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Old 

Plantation Days 


By 

MARTHA S. GIELOW 

n 

Author of 

“ Mammy's Reminiscences,” 
etc., etc. 



l^ctD iorft 

R. H. RUSSELL 
1902 





rights 1902^ by Robert Howard Russell 


First Impression, October, 1902 


THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS. 

Two Cop-es RtcEivED 

NOV. m '902 

Copyright entry 

CLASS l3-‘XXo. No. 
COPY A. 



/ 


To THE Memory op 

Whose noble life was my guide and whose 
loving pride in me was my inspiration, I 
inscribe these simple stories of the ^^Mammy’'^ 
who laid me first within those precious arms 
that never tired, against the faithful heart 
that never wearied in its devotion, 

Martha S. Gielow. 



Contents 


Page 

Mammy Speaks ix 

Mammy Joe and the Old Home . . . . IS 

Lookin’ fer Marse Willie 29 

Dat Chile 47 

Uncle Tom’s Matrimonial Difficulties ... 59 

Ole Bline Hannah 69 

Plantation Sermon 83 

A Brief Sketch of Mammy Joe and her Ac- 
count of the Sinking of the Merrimac . 93 

Mammy Tilly’s Visit to the City . . . .101 

Aunt Roxy Ann, an’ de Apple-Tree . . .Ill 

How Sis’ Mandy an’ her Dog Pinchey got 

’Ligion 119 

Mammy’s Receipt for Making Alabama Velvets 127 

Go ter Sleep on Mammy’s Bre’s’ . . . .131 

[ vii ] 


CONTENTS 


Page 

Mammy’s Luck Charm fer de Bride . , .135 

Mammy’s Receipt fer Aig- Braid . . . .139 

De Chris’mus Baby 145 

Little Sweet Ladie 147 

On my Journey Home 153 

Come Ring dem Charmin’ Bells . . . .159 

Wheel in de Middle o’ de Wheel . . . .163 

Plantation Funeral Song 167 

Oh, Lawd, Ain’ dem Lobely 171 

Oh, Ma’y, don’ you Weep 175 

Note by the Author 179 


[ ] 


Mammy Speaks 

“ 'I ^ F de Lawd takes keer uv eben de li’l teeny, 

1^ weeny sparrers, honey, den we-all what 
^ is created in His ’zac’ likeness shouldn’ 
’spute de jestice uv His laws. De Lawd He wucks 
in myster’ous ways. 

“ When I sets hyar an’ looks out upon de 
changes, hit seem all wrong — an’ sometimes hit 
seem lak de Marster done fergit us all — an’ mos’ 
pertic’lar dem what is ole an’ no ’count — ^what ain’ 
got nobody ’sponsible fer ’um dese days. But den, 
dat’s des de debble er temptin’ uv me. I knows dat 
He do keer. Yas, chile. He’s boun’ ter keer. Don’ 
you s’posen dat yo’ ole Mammy is des as much o’ 
’count ter de Lawd as dem li’l no ’count snowbirds, 
an’ dat ole raid-haided woodpecker out dar on de 
tree, an’ dem ole cawin’ crows what’s eatin’ up de 
corn? Ob co’se I is! Ef He keers fer dem. He 
sho’ gwine keer fer me. De Lawd never fersakes 
dem what’s got faif. 

“ Sometimes, honey, de debble he whispers ter 
me, an’ says : ‘ Sis’ Joanna, faif is fer dem what’s 
got all dey wants ; faif ain’ gwine fill you wid vid- 
dles when you is hongry, ef you sets hyar an’ waits 
[ix] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


fer it ; you got to go fetch it, an’ if you ain’ able 
ter fetch it, you ain’ gwine git it.’ Den I ses ter 
de whisper: ‘ Go way f’um hyar. Mister Satan. 
Br’er Lija’ had faif an’ de ravens brunged him 
food, an’ dem chillun gwine fetch me some’n ’fo’ 
long; dey, de ravens what God gwine sen’ me, an’, 
sho’ nuff, hyar you is wid er baskit full er de fat 
uv de Ian’. You is er snow-white raven, honey ; de 
ve’y bird uv Parydise, an’ you gwine hah sho’ nuff 
gole wings when you die an’ er sho’ nuff gole hyarp 
ter play on an’ sho’ nuff gole slippers an’ er sho’ 
nuff gole crown fer ter wear. I done seed all dat 
de day you wuz horned. I done felt de sperits all 
roun’ me when I fus’ belt you up fer yo’ Ma ter 
look at you. 

“ Lawd ! Lawd ! but it do seem lak ’twuz only 
yisterday when I hyard de bell ring in de middle uv 
de night fer me ter come to de house ter yo’ Ma. 
De moon wuz des gwine down when I git ter de do’ 
an’ seed Br’er Jim gallup off fer de doctor lak de 
worl’ wuz ’bout ter come to er een. Sich er night 
I never wan’ ter see ergin. Yo’ Pa look lak he 
mos’ ’stracted, an’ we all wuz. But than’ God, des 
erbout sun-up, I hyard you cry fer de fus’ time — 
de ve’y fus’ baby cry in de fam’ly. Hit soun’ 
sweeter dan de soun’ uv music. Lawd, chile, how 




Mamyny Joe 




MAMMY SPEAKS 


proud we all wuz, an’ you weighed mighty nigh ten 
pounds, dat you did! You didn’ look it; but 
honey, you hollered lak you wuz as big an’ weigh’ 
as much as er bale er cotton. Yo’ Pa wuz too proud 
ter hoi’ in when he hyard you. He looked at you 
an’ say : ‘ Dat baby’s got er fine pair er lungs,’ he 
say ; ‘ she gwine have er good th’oat fer singin’.’ 
De doctor, he say, ‘ Yas, I think so, an’ you gwine 
fine ’er putty lively comp’ny.’ Yo’ Ma axed me 
ve’y easy ef I didn’ reckon you had de colic. 
‘ Law, no’m,’ I say ; ‘ dey ain’ nuffin ’tall de matter 
wid dis baby, but dat she wan’ some’n ter eat. She 
done tired out wid gettin’ hyar.’ 

“ I never will fergit de smile dat lighted up her 
face. Hit looked ter me lak es ef somebody had 
suddenly turned on er light ’hove ’er haid. I laid 
you in her arms whiles I fixed you er li’l spec uv 
catnip tea ter begin on.^ I wan’ gwine give you no 
sugar rag; I don’t b’lieve in sugar rags fer babies 
ter dis day. An’ den, honey, you wuz sweet 
ernuff — dat you wuz — an’ you’s growed sweeter 
all de time. You ’minds me uv dem li’l yaller jes- 
mine buds. Dey mighty dainty when dey fus’ 
come, but when dey bus’ inter full bloom, de whole 
woods is filled wid sweetness. 

‘‘ What you say.?^ Ter be sho’, you kin res’ yo’ 

[xi] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


haid in my lap. Is you tired, baby Well, hit do 
seem lak you wuz er chile ergin, settin’ hyar in my 
ole cabin, right on de ve’y stool what you usen ter 
play wid, an’ er feelin’ yo’ li’l haid so close ter my 
arm. Le’ me tech my ole fingers onct mo’ ter de 
curls uv yo’ hair. H — m, how fine an’ silky hit do 
feel. But de gole dus’ what I usen ter say dat de 
angels sprinkled on it is done turned ter brown, an’ 
some day hit’s gwine ter turn ergin ter silver. Den 
you gwine be ole lak me. Den de Lawd gwine sen’ 
er dove fer to keer fer his li’l bird uv Parydise what 
brings de good things lak de ravens ter ole Mammy. 
Yas, res’ yo’ li’l haid on my lap, an’ I gwine tell 
you ’bout de ole times befo’ de war.” 


[xii] 






Mammy Joe and the Old 

Home 





Old Plantation 
Days 


Mammy Joe and the Old Home 



HOSE who have never known a Mammy 


can have but little conception of the love 


that existed between that dear, black fos- 


ter-parent and “ dem chillun what she’s done 
raised.” Nor can they realize the charm of list- 
ening to the tales of the past related by these dear 
old chroniclers of the Old South. 

As time vanishes, the hazy distance will cast a 
misty but glorious halo over those old plantation 
days that are no more. We will have no more 
Mammies to nurse and care for us, and to tell us of 
the “ gre’t house,” and the wonderful doings of 
our home-loving ancestors. We will hear no more 
the tender crooning of the simple lullabies that 
charmed us to rest ; and the quaint dialect of those 
days, with its soft, mellow pathos, will be a thing 
of the past. 

In one of the comfortless cabins of the present 
conditions, where the necessaries of life are brought 


[ 15 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


in by the daily toil of withered hands, lives one of 
the old nurses who are passing. 

Mammy Joe has always lived in a cabin, but not’ 
such a one as she occupies to-day. There was a 
day, she will tell you, when “ me an’ Mistis trabelled 
all ober de Ian’, an’ my cabin was es fine es a 
lady’s and as she sits and talks of the old times, 
her eyes grow misty, and her withered hands clutch 
nervously at her apron hem. 

“ Mistis never would have ’lowed me ter live lak 
dis, Miss Ferginia,” she would say ; “ an’ de chillun 
an’ de gran’chillun would keer fer me now ef dey 
could ; dey does he’p me all dey kin, but it ain’ lak 
it wuz in de ole times. 

“No doctor’s bills ter pay den, no rent fer de 
cabin an’ fer de patch fer my garden. I never 
was hongry an’ never wanted clo’es to w’ar, an’ I 
had fire ter set by when ’twas cole, widout havin’ 
ter pay fer ’um all. 

“ An’ now ter see de White House lived in by 
strangers f ’um de hills ! De home what my Mistis 
owned, wid piles uv niggers ter keer fer ’er — hit 
seem all wrong. Dem new sort uv white folks ain’ 
got no biz’ness in Mistis’ house. Dey don’ seem 
nach’al to be dar.” 

Mammy looks far across the cotton field, down 

[ 16 ] 





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MAMMY JOE AND THE OLD HOME 

the avenue of walnut-trees to where the large grove 
of handsome oaks surrounds the old place, as she 
pauses. The tall pillars supporting the front gal- 
lery meet her gaze like faithful sentinels. They 
are yellowed with time and neglect, but are partly 
mantled by the kindly ivy, whose untrimmed ten- 
drils have formed a covering for the decaying 
home. 

The “ White House ” fronts the public highway 
or road which divides the plantation. On the side 
of the road, next to the house and grove, the fence 
is bordered by a row of fine walnut-trees. Across 
the road a long row of fig-trees forms a border to 
the vast fields spread out before you. The field 
gate is directly opposite the lawn gate, or “ big 
gate ” as it is called, which opens into the grove 
and leads to the mansion. 

Going into the field-gate, the wagon road is bor- 
dered each side with a row of fine peach-trees. This 
avenue extends to the far end of the plantation, or 
rather to the “ big cedar.” The “ big cedar ” is 
famous for its size, and stands at the beginning of 
the woodland. Curving off from the big cedar, 
under whose shady boughs many a picnic has been 
held, a lovely sweep of pine-trees runs along the 
side of the plantation, and just where the pine 
[ 17 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


forest ends, near the public road, stands a lonely 
log cabin. 

In this desolate home, where the sighing of the 
pines is ever heard, lives Mammy. In the early 
morning she may be seen emerging from the rickety 
door of her house. She goes to the little garden 
at the back of the cabin and gathers a few sprouts 
from the monstrous collard-stalks, which seem to 
have a wonderful vitality for putting out new 
leaves on their gaunt and twisted necks, and, like 
the cruse of oil, furnish a continuous supply of 
food for the old negress year in and year out. 
Mammy Joe takes her sprouts to the well, lets 
down the bucket and draws up the fresh cool water. 
She washes the “ greens ” in a leaky tin pan, takes 
them into the cabin and puts them on to “ b’ile ” in 
a pot swinging from a crane in the chimney. The 
chimney is usually propped up on the outside by a 
fence rail. Sometimes Mammy puts a piece of 
meat on with the “ greens,” but generally she puts 
none. On a low bed in the cabin lies an invalid 
daughter. Two grandsons, whose mother is dead, 
also live with her. Having put the “ pot on ter 
b’ile wid de greens,” and having attended the ash- 
hopper, where lye is dripping to make soap, and 
having fed the few chickens in her coop. Mammy 
[ 18 ] 





Do?m the avenue of walnut trees 




MAMMY JOE AND THE OLD HOME 

sits down to await the cooking of the greens. Her 
cabin faces the old home. She sits and looks 
through the door across the field, over the fig-trees, 
through the walnut hedge to where “ de house ” can 
be seen nestled under the oaks. The changed con- 
ditions have been almost as hard on the old nurse 
as on the mistress whom she had laid to rest with 
her own devoted hands. Though desperately poor. 
Mammy Joe is as proud as any colonial dame. She 
would scorn to beg, and if she were starving she 
would not admit that she was hungry. The dig- 
nity of her white folks must be upheld. Indeed, 
this family pride of these old mammies, — their 
devotion to the memory of the old times is the 
great charm which lingers around them like the 
scent of dead roses. The feeling of this invisible 
presence of buried sweetness wraps one around like 
the fragrance of a dream as one listens to the tales 
of the past and hears the plaintive echoes of those 
old times, so full of romance, so picturesque, so 
dear. While thus waiting for her ‘‘ greens ter 
b’ile,” Mammy is at her best when you want her to 
talk of the olden times. The sound of her voice 
comes to me like a far-off strain of music. I hear 
her say again with a soft, low tenderness, as one 
would speak while talking of the dead : 

[ 19 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 

Yas, chile, dem wuz days, dem wuz, when Mis- 
tis lived, an’ I neber ’spec’s to see de like ergin.” 
And then I hear her say again, so apologetically, 
“ Why didn’ you sen’ me word you wuz cornin’, 
honey? I’d er had some uv de bes’ fried chicken 
you eber seed, an’ now I ain’ got er thing fitten ter 
han’ you. Ne’r mine, I gwine make Jake an’ Isum 
ketch dat yaller-laig domenick what’s done got 
outen de coop an’ run down in de pines, an’ I 
gwine fatten ’er twell she kain’ stan’ up, an’ de ve’y 
nex’ time you come, I gwine fry ’er. Jake! You 
an’ Isum go run down in de woods an’ see ef you 
can’ fine some yaller jasmine fer Miss Ferginia, an’ 
some uv dem heart-leaves she usen ter be huntin’ 
fer all de time. Honey, does you still love de woods 
an’ de wile flowers? Hit seem lak yisterday when 
I usen ter see you wid yo’ arms full uv honeysuckle 
an’ makin’ b’lieve you wuz er fai’y princ^55. I 
hates ter look over at de house dese days. Hit 
sets me tkinkin’ ’bout de ole times what you don’ 
even ’member. Don’ look at my house. Miss Fer- 
ginia, kase it ain’ fitten ter ax a lady in, but hit 
wan’ always dat way ’fo’ my eyes give out. When 
I c’d see, I c’d keep eve’ything in order, an’ in dem 
days de cabin what I lived in was fitten fer any 
lady ter come inter. But now, I mos’ ’shamed ter 
[ 20 ] 



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The bis cedar 






MAMMY JOE AND THE OLD HOME 


stay in it myse’f. Ole Miss wouldn’ have ’lowed 
me ter live lak dis. But den, she’s done daid an’ 
gone, an’ I ’spec’s ter j’ine her ’fo’ ve’y long. 

“ No’m, when Mistis lived, de cabin what I usen 
ter occipy wuz stan’in’ right under dat oak you 
see over yander near de house. Le’ me p’int hit out 
ter you. Kin you see thoo’ de grove, honey, ter de 
right side uv de house.? Well, look right dis way. 
Yassum, dat’s hit — dat big white oak, Dat’s whar 
I usen to lib, an’ de chinkin’ in de logs wa’n’ done 
wid ole rags nurr. Lawd, chile! many is de time 
I is rocked Mistis’ gran’chillun ter sleep in dat 
cabin. But hit’s been to’ down too long ter talk 
erbout. Now I libs over hyar in de woods. Yassum, 
de fam’ly is all done moved erway now, but de chil- 
lun he’ps me all dey kin. But it ain’ lak it wuz in 
de ole times. Dem white folks what I done tell 
you erbout, ain’ got de raisin’ uv our white folks. 
Dey is er diffun’ kine uv peoples. Why, honey, 
one day I went ober ter de house ter take 
some sof’ soap ter ’change fer er spec uv sugar, 
an’ dey wuz settin’ at de table an re’chin’ ercross 
ter he’p deyse’fs ter de dinner. Dey don’ know; 
how ter eat ofFen mahog’ny tables no better dan 
my Isum an’ Jake. An’ de ’hog’ny baids is all 
scratched up, an’ eve’y book in de bookcase is 
[ 21 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


upside down ! ” I hear her laugh again, as she 
continues : “ I knows it kase I dus’ dem books too 
many times, an’ Mistis is showed me de top sides. 
An’, honey, dem white folks is done to’ down de 
kitchen what usen ter stan’ in de yard, ’way off 
f ’um de house ; an’ done put up er shed-room right 
on de een uv de piazzy fer ter cook in. Yassum, 
dey is ! An’, chile, dey done turnt de pantry inter 
er sto’-room, an’ keeps flour an’ sugar in paper bags 
— ’fo’ Gawd, dey does ! An’ de big sto’-room, — dat 
big brick house you know whar we always usen ter 
keep hogsheads uv sugar an’ hogsheads uv mer- 
lasses — dey is turnt inter er dry goods sto’, an’ de 
smoke house whar we usen ter have two hundred 
hams bangin’ at er time an’ bar’ls uv cracklin’s 
an’ bar’ls uv spare-ribs an’ bar’ls uv pickled beef 
salted down, dey is done turnt inter er com 
crib! 

“ Yassum, honey, dat dey is — an’ de corn cribs 
is been to’ down, an’ all de ole cabins is been burnt 
up an’ de fence to’ down, an’ nuffin’ lef’ but de big 
gate pos’s. Lawd, chile, I can’ hardly stan’ it, an’ 
when I sets hyar lookin’ ober dar, I thinks erbout 
de times befo’ de war when de quarters looked lak 
er city, an’ when de plantation was lak er hive uv 
bees, wid de ban’s at wuck. I can see ole Mistis 
[22 ] 


MAMMY JOE AND THE OLD HOME 


right now, walkin’ erlong lak er queen, froo de 
quarters whar we all fairly worshipped her. An’ 
I kin hyar ’er say right now, ‘ How you feel. Uncle 
Billy ’ An’ I kin hyar Unc’ Billy say, ‘ Des tol- 
er’ble, Mistis, thank Gawd! I thinks I c’d feel 
better ef it wan’ fer de miz’ry in my back.’ ‘ Well, 
I will sen’ you a plarster,’ says Mistis, an’ den she 
says ter me, ‘ Joanner, be sho’ dat Uncle Billy gits 
er plarster fer his back.’ An’ den she stops at Sis’ 
Betsy’s cabin, an’ I hyar ’er say, ‘ Good-mornin’, 
Aunt Betsy, how is yo’ rheumatiz terday? ’ ‘ Gawd 
be praised, I feels ’bout de same, thanky, Mistis; 
dat bitters seem ter do me good,’ say Aunt Betsy. 
‘ Well, I’ll sen’ you some mo’,’ Mistis say. An’ den 
Unc’ Big-Jim would be sho’ ter say, ^ Good-day, 
Mistis, I feels lak er dram would set me up, please 
ma’am,’ an’ Miss would larf an’ say, ‘ Ve’y well. 
Uncle Jim, jes’ come ter de house an’ Joanner shell 
mix you er nice toddy.’ Lawd, honey I Fifty little 
niggers would be foll’in’ Mistis; an’ de big basket 
uv biskits an’ sugar cakes what I toted would be 
emptied in no time. Wish I had some uv ’um right 
now an’ er tas’e uv dat toddy an’ one uv dem plars- 
ters fer my back. Dat I do. 

“ Honey, does you ubsurb dem two gate pos’s in 
front uv de house Well, chile, in dem days befo’ 
[23 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


de war, de ca’iages what come thoo’ dat gate wuz 
er sight ter see. 

“You knows Wash Crawford.? Well, he wuz 
one uv de out-lookers — ^he usen ter set on de top uv 
de pos’ tow’ds de Greensboro’ side, an’ Larfett, he 
usen ter set on de pos’ tow’ds de ribber side. Den 
Merc’ry an’ Cupid dey wuz de runners. E£ Wash 
seed de dust risin’ in de road tow’ds de town side, 
he give de word ter de runners, an’ while Cupe 
th’owed open de gate, Merc’ry he runned ter de 
house ter noterfy ole Miss, an’ bless yo’ soul, befo’ 
de ca’iage ’rived at de gate, Br’er Tom would hah 
de cake an’ wine out on de sideboard an’ Mistis w’d 
be stan’in on de gall’ry whar you see all dem vines, 
waitin’ fer ter welcome de gues’s. How we did fly 
’roun’ ! Ooommmmm ! ! 

“ Br’er Emp’rer he’d see dat de horses wuz wa- 
tered an’ fed, an’ Sis’ Ann, she ’tended ter de feedin’ 
uv de servants. Sometimes hit wuz de Bishop an’ 
sometimes hit wuz ladies an’ gent’muns all de way 
f’um Mon’gomery, an’ sometimes hit wuz jes’ de 
j edges an’ lawyers gwine f’um Greensboro ter 
Eutaw ter ’ten’ court. But no matter, eve’ybody 
knowed eve’ybody in dem days, befo’ de peoples 
git so p’omiscus. 

“ Now, ef de dus’ riz on de ribber side, den 

[ 24 ] 



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MAMMY JOE AND THE OLD HOME 


Larfett he gib de ’larm, an’ de runners opened de 
gates an’ tuck de news ter de house es fas’ es dey 
c’d run. Den we knowed hit wuz comp’ny f’um 
Eutaw or f’um Mobile, an’ ’specially ef we hyard 
de steamboat blow. Sometimes dey des’ takes rer- 
freshmen’s an’ den go on, but mos’ giner’lly dey 
stayed er week an’ sometimes er mont’. Sich 
dancin’ an’ frolickin’ you neber seed, an’ horse- 
back ridin’ an’ drivin’ in de ca’iages, an’ chest- 
nut huntin’, getherin’ wile flowers an’ grasses, 
o-o-o-m-m-m ! ! 

“ Miss Fanny usen ter play de harp an’ sing — 
dat gre’t big harp, honey, what Mistis had sont 
f’um France in Parus. I wuz er young gal in dem 
days an’ I usen ter he’p rub de silber, an’ whip de 
<;ream fer de cillybub, an’ I usen ter he’p keep de 
flies ofFen de table too. No common nigger, honey, 
kin bresh de table wid de peacock tail; it ain’ in 
’um, an’ I wuz mighty proud when Mistis le’ me 
stan’ behine ’er an’ wave dat bresh. 

“ In dem days de stage coach usen ter come 
along wid fo’ horses an’ blow de horn whenever 
dey stop ter let off passengers. Chile, hit wuz er 
sight ter see de niggers run when dat horn blowed. 
You’d er thought hit was Gab’el, it blowed so loud, 
an’ brought de people out lak de summons done 
[ 25 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 

come. But our comp’ny neber corned on de stage 
coach — dat is, ve’y seldom. But Chris’mus was de 
time fer real joy an’ happiness in dem days ! Sich 
loads uv good things you neber seed in yo’ life. 
De fam’ly usen ter come down ter de quarters ter 
see de breakdown; an’ Jerry miah an’ Josephus w’d 
cut de pigeon wing. De younger set lak Wash 
an’ Larfett an’ Cupe an’ Merc’ry w’d dress up an’ 
sing an’ dance ‘ John Cooner ;’ an’ Ike an’ ’Rastus 
drawed de fiddle. Mos’ gin’rally one uv de young 
gals would git ma’ied on Chris’mus night, an’ dat 
w’d make er bigger time dan eber. Aig-nog an’ 
hot punch wuz free es water, an’ de roas’ hawg an* 
cracklin’ braid wuz es superfine es de tuckey an’ de 
chicken. But “ de house ” wuz de place on Chris’- 
mus — all dec’rated wid evergreens f ’um de swamp ; 
an’ de ladies did look so smart when dey come down 
de stair steps an’ ranged deyse’fs in de drawin’ 
room fer ter dance de Kerchy Cotillyum. An’ de 
gent’muns dey bow so low when dey tech dey 
ban’s, hit look lak er dream. Br’er Billy he wuz 
always de fiddler fer de house, he an’ ’Rastus; an’ 
when dey scrape de bow an’ call out ‘ Face yo’ 
partners,’ hit wuz er sight ter behol’. Den dey 
danced er dance called de minnyet, but hit wuz 
too slow fer de fiddle, an’ Mistis always had er man 
[ 26 ] 


MAMMY JOE AND THE OLD HOME 


f’um town ter play hit on de planner. De yard 
was lit up wid tar-bar ’Is an’ torches, an’ I don’ 
know which seem de happies’ — de white folks er de 
niggers. But dar ain’ no mo’ Chris’mus-gif’- 
ketchin’ now — no mo’ new linsey frocks an’ new 
shoes, ’cep’in’ what you buys fer yo’se’f, an’ no 
mo’ good ole times lak dem. Eve’ybody done got 
po’ ’cep’in’ dem new-fashioned white folks what’s 
cornin’ down Souf what never owned no niggers. 

“ Jes’ ’fo’ de war, when yo’ Pa got ma’ied, an’ 
fotch yo’ Ma ter de home, she wuz de beautifules’ 
bride I ever seed. She sutny wuz er angel ef dey 
ever wuz one, an’ she knowed how ter b’ar trouble 
too, fer hard times an’ trouble corned erlong han’ 
in han’, an’ dey seem ter have j’ined ban’s ter stay 
wid us. 

“ You looks des’ lak yo’ Ma, Miss Ferginia, 
’cep’in you ain’ es putty, but you talks des’ lak 
yo’ Pa, an’ I hyar tell dat you is smart lak he wuz, 
wid book lamin’, an’ I hopes you is, fer he wuz 
de smartes’ man dat eber lived in dis county. I 
’members one day when de war broke out, de 
gent’muns wuz all tryin’ ter draw er star fer er 
pattern fer yo’ Ma ter make a flag, an’ yo’ Pa wuz 
de onlies’ gent’mun what c’d draw dat star right. 
An’ he tuck dat flag ter Mobile when he went off 
[ 27 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


wid his comp’ny. Dar wan’ no gent’mun in de 
county what knowed all de book-larnin’ dat yo’ Pa 
knowed, an’ nobody in de worl’ wuz ever so good es 
yo’ Pa an’ yo’ Ma, ter us po’ niggers. Lawd have 
mussy ! You hyar me call myse’f er nigger, 
honey.? Well, chile, I don’ lak ter call myse’f er 
nigger, kase, pertic’lar speakin’, dar ain’ but one 
sho’ nufF nigger, an’ dat’s de debhle. We black 
folks ain’ ’zackly niggers, you know, honey, we is 
des’ black-skinned white folks. My heart is des’ es 
white es yo’ dress; yas, chile, dat it is, an’ my 
black skin don’ make no diffunce ter de Lawd ! ” 
Thus, sitting at the feet, so to speak, of the 
Mammy whose black skin “ don’ make no diffunce 
ter de Lawd,” I have gleaned many of the facts of 
my stories from her rambling reminiscences of the 
old plantation days that are no more. 


[ 28 ] 



avini^ looks far across the cotton p eld 






^TfXm 




Lookin’ fer Marse Willie 


i 

4 


\ 

I 

4 


Lookin’ fer Marse Willie 



;HE old mansion rested upon the summit 


of one of the beautiful sweeping knolls, 


so characteristic of the highland district 


of Alabama, and was surrounded at the rear and 
sides by the stately live-oaks and crepe-myrtles so 
profuse in that section of the State. 

The sloping lawn in front was green, but the 
old-time velvety smoothness had given place to a 
confusion of flowers and weeds and grass. The 
handsome avenue of arborvitse, untrimmed and 
uncared for, stretched out long shoots like gaunt 
skeleton arms, over the confusion and dilapidation 
of the neglected homestead. 

Two long rows of tumbled-down cabins beyond 
the once famous mansion represented indeed a 
‘‘ Deserted Village,” while the “ horse lot ” en- 
circling the adjacent hillsides was no longer filled 
with frolicking steeds. Its fences were down, and 
the once prosperous barns and corncribs were ren- 
dering up their remaining beams to supply the 
fire-wood for the house. 

The carriage-house, or what was left of it, was 
now converted into a cow-shed, under which stood 


[ 31 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


a patient old brindle waiting to be milked. The 
tinkle of the bell which she had worn as the leader 
of a large drove, was the only sound which broke 
the deathlike stillness of the place, except the 
creaking of an old broken-down buggy with tires 
half off, which came creeping in at the heels of the 
remains of a horse, whose reins were held by the 
remains of the old-time coachman of Myrtle Knoll. 

Uncle Billy rolled the “ remains ” of the buggy 
under one side of the shed and turned old Stonewall 
loose. The tired horse immediately began to assist 
old Brindle at her meagre repast of corn-shucks, 
while Uncle Billy gathered up a satchel and band- 
box out of the vehicle and trudged to “ de house,” 
as the mansion was called. The old man walked 
quite sprightly for one of his age and ailments, 
and a look of intense satisfaction lit up the features 
of his venerable black face, so expressive of benevo- 
lence and kindness. 

“ She’s done cum,” he remarked as he deposited 
the satchel at the back entry of the house. ‘‘ She’s 
done cum, Mandy.” Aunt Mandy, who was busy 
wiping out a lamp chimney at the little shelf 
in the back gallery, jumped slightly at the sound 
of her brother’s remark, for she had not heard him 
come up. 


[ 32 ] 


LOOKIN’ FER MARSE WILLIE 


“ Who, Miss Rose? ” she replied, quickly. “ You 
don’ ses so! An’ hyar I is tryin’ ter set dis ole 
lamp er goin’ dat ain’ had no ile sence de chile cum 
home two year ergo. But how dis you git hyar so 
soon, Billy? I been ’lowin’ you’d break down in 
de mud wid ole Stonewall an’ dat rickety buggy. 
Whar Miss Rose? W’at you go fetch ’er up de 
back way fer? You know, I’se too lame ter sweep 
de leaves off’n anywhar ’cep’in’ de front walk, an’ 
now you done fetched ’er in de back way what I 
ain’ had de strenf fer ter sweep ! ” 

“ I never fetched ’er in de back way, Sis’ Man- 
dy,” replied Uncle Billy. “ She jes’ would git out 
at de big gate an’ walk ter de house; sed she jes’ 
hatter walk. Dar she cum now,” he exclaimed, 
pointing to the slim, girlish figure wending her way 
in and out through the rose bushes to the home. 
Uncle Billy sat down on the back steps and drew 
an old cob pipe from his coat pocket, raked out 
some dried tobacco leaves, crushed them up in his 
hand, filled his pipe and began to smoke. The 
nicotine acted upon memory as usual, for Uncle 
Billy began to look dreamy and to talk to himself : 

“ Ef Marse Willie jes’ would cum back! ” he re- 
peated, plaintively. “ Es ole as I is, I’d split rails 
an’ fix de fences, an’ set dis place er goin’ lak it 
[ 33 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


usen ter be befo’ de wah. Ain’ nuthin’ lef’ hyar 
now ’cep’in’ haunts, Eben dose good fer nuthin’ 
niggers what wouldn’ he’p me mek er crop fer Miss 
Lilly is ’feered ter cum hyar ter eben steal chickens. 
Dat’s de onlies’ good I is ever knowed ha’nts ter do 
— ^keepin’ off fiefs. But dey’s too many uv dem 
res’less sperits gittin’ roun’ hyar ter suit me. But 
I ain’ s’prised whiles Miss Lilly look so powerful lak 
a ghos’ herse’f. Ain’ no soun’ er nuthin’ on de 
place ’cep’in’ jes Mandy an’ me — an’ ole Brindle — ■ 
an’ de horse — an’ Gen’l. Wonder whar dat dawg 
is anyhow ! Hyar, Gen’l, hyar, cum hyar, 
Gen’l.” 

General came walking up with a tired look in his 
sightless eyes ; in fact, the old house pet was blind, 
and almost stone deaf ; only his dog instinct and 
the time of the day enabled him to creep out from 
his bed under the steps when Uncle Billy called. 
‘‘ Hyar’s de scraps I save’ fer you, ole feller,” and 
Uncle Billy pulled out two meat skins and a piece 
of crust from the back pocket of his best coat, 
which he had put on in honor of driving the buggy 
to the station, ten miles away, for Rosalind Wal- 
lace. 

Aunt Mandy had hastened to the front, where 
the girl could be seen lingering among the rose 
[ 34 ] 


LOOKIN’ PER MARSE WILLIE 


bushes, now filled with buds in spite of numerous 
dead branches. “ Lawd bless my soul ! ” she ex- 
claimed. “ How you do, Miss Rose ! I sutny an’ 
sho’ is proud ter see yer. How cum you didn’ ride 
up de ab’nue, honey? I ’spec’ you done git yo’ 
little feets plum’ full uv mud, walkin’ fro’ de bushes 
dis way.” The old woman bent down and hugged 
the skirts of the fair young girl, whose graceful 
arms were outstretched to the faithful old mammy. 
Her soft blue eyes were filled with tears, and she 
trembled visibly as she asked, “ How is she. Mam- 
my, and how are you? ” 

“ We is gittin’ ’long jes’ tolerable, honey,” 
Mammy replied. ‘‘ She’s takin’ a little nap dis 
ebenin’, but you is gwine ter see ’er es soon es she 
wakes up. She seem ter sleep er good deal hyar 
lately, but den dat’s good fer ’er, kase hit seem ter 
me she ain’ never is sleep a whole night in twenty 
year.” 

Rosalind pressed the stiff black hand silently, 
and her pensive face assumed a deeper sadness as 
she mounted the steps of the front piazza of her 
old Southern home. Seeing the look of sadness, 
the nurse brushed stealthily a tear from her own 
honest eye, for she too was bearing a weight of 
memories and grief which she endeavored to hide, 
[ 35 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


and in a bright, brisk manner began to bring up a 
chair and offer a welcome to the young mistress of 
the house. 

“ Take er cheer, honey, an’ set down,” she said 
cheerfully. “ I know you mus’ be tired out wid de 
long ride behine ole Stonewall. I gwine fix you 
somethin’ ter eat bime’by. But you mus’ set hyar 
an’ res’ er while fus’ an’ let yo’ ole mammy look at 
you good. Bless Gawd, I’se proud ter see you, an’ 
de weather done cl’ared up jes’ beautiful fer ter 
give you er welcome home. Jes’ look ober dar at de 
putty sunset, honey ! Now ain’t dat jes’ too beau- 
tiful! Dem clouds is mos’ es red es my ole haid- 
han’cher’, an’ jes’ look at de piles uv snow-drif’ 
clouds lak beat-up aigs! Jes’ look. Miss Rose! 
But, dar now, honey, dar is de ole fambly signmint 
uv trubble in dem clouds. Dar tiow, dar de shad- 
der, sho’ you born. Yassum, I said de shadder, 
Ain’ you never hyared uv de shadder.? Yas, honey, 
dar it is; it’s de shadder I always sees when we is 
gwine hab trubble. Don’t you see it. Miss Rose.? 
Look right ober de hills ’tween dem two talks’ spur- 
rers.” The old woman pointed her long black 
finger in superstitious awe toward where the imag- 
inary symbol of trouble — seen only by herself — 
was supposed to be darkening the sunlight against 
[ 36 ] 


LOOKIN’ FER MARSE WILLIE 


the hills with its ominous presence. “ You see dat 
long black streak what look lak er cross she 
whispered. “ Yassum, daVs hit; well, when you 
sees dat cross dar at sunset, hit’s de sho’ sign we 
gwine hab trubble.” Noting the anxious look on 
Rosalind’s face, she hastily exclaimed : “ But den, 
I ain’ lookin’ fer no trubble now you is come home, 
honey, no — dat I ain’.” 

Rosalind had risen from the seat she had taken 
and was standing beside the negress, looking far 
above the hilltops into the sky. Her sensitive 
nature was vibrating to the superstitious awe of the 
old nurse. A deeper sadness seemed to settle upon 
her troubled looks, and unbidden tears began to roll 
from her eyes upon her soft cheeks. 

“ Lawd, Miss Rose, what make you cry, chile ? 
Don’ do dat, honey, you mos’ bre’k my heart ef you 
do dat way,” said Mammy. 

“ It cannot mean more trouble to her, can it. 
Mammy ? ” Rosalind sobbed out softly, as she 
leaned upon the arm that reached out to support 
her. 

“ Lawd, no. Miss Rose,” replied Amanda, in 
deep self-reproach at bringing grief to her child. 
“ Lawd, no, honey. Don’ cry. Miss Rose. You 
mos’ bus’ my heart open ef you do dat way. I 
[ 37 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


wish I hadn’ never seen dat shadder; hit sutny 
don’ mean no mo’ trouble to Miss Lilly 

“ But it means trouble to you and to me, Mam- 
my, and to Uncle Billy,” replied the girl. “ I do 
not need any sign in the heavens. Mammy, to tell 
me that trouble is at'hand. Oh, I feel so oppressed 
at heart. It seems as if the old place never looked 
so desolate, so changed, so — utterly wretched; the 
cabins are nearly all gone — ^and — and — how lonely 
the old gate-posts look. Oh! how sad it is to live 
where the world seems dead 1 ” Rosalind flung her- 
self upon the chair from which she had risen. Her 
abandonment to grief was so new to the usual brave 
demeanor of the orphaned girl, that Aunt Amanda 
was bewildered with distress. She flung herself 
upon her knees by the weeping girl and began to 
comfort her in her simple way. 

“ Don’ cry no mo’, honey,” she pleaded, “ don’ 
cry no mo’. I know it’s hard — things do look 
mighty changed, but den you mus’ ’spec^ dat. 
What you keer ’bout dem ole cabins, an’ de fences 
bein’ gone.? Dey makes good kindlin’ wood an’ 
saves er pile uv haulin’. Yassum, dem ole gate 
pos’s do look mighty lonesome stan’in’ up dar all 
by deyse’fs. We ain’ never is whitewashed ’em 
sence you come las’ time. Miss Rose — ^tell you de 
[ 38 ] 


LOOKIN’ FER MARSE WILLIE 


trufe, honey, dey looks too skeery stan’in’ up dar 
in de dark, widout no fence hitched ter ’um, an’ we 
wuz glad when de rain wash’ de lime off. You see, 
Br’er Billy, he’s skeered uv ha’nts, an’ he wouldn’t 
pass dem pos’s in de dark while de whitewash las’ 
fer de worl’. No’m ! dat he wouldn’.” 

Rosalind smiled through her tears. 

“ Dear Uncle Billy,” she exclaimed. “ Is he 
really afraid of ‘ ha’nts ? ’ ” she asked with child- 
like interest. “ But Mammy,” she said, returning 
to her troubled looks, “ I want to see my mother. 
I have come home to stay with her — until — until — 
I mean, always.” The tears came again to the 
tender eyes. 

‘‘ Yassum,” Mammy replied. “ Jes’ es soon es 
she wake up. Now, don’ go ter cry in’ no mo’. 
Miss Rose. I knows hit’s sad, honey, but yo’ Ma 
ain’ in no sufferin’. Now, I knows her hair done 
turn snow white ; I knows all dat, an’ I knows you 
is one brave chile, gwine ’way up yander ’mong 
strangers ter work fer ter s’port yo’ Ma, an’ ter 
keep de house from bein’ sole so she kin libe in it 
ondesturbed. I knows what you is done, honey, 
an’ I is done de bes’ I kin ter he’p you teck keer uv 
’er. Dat I is. 

“ An’ she’s still thinkin’ dat you is a little baby 

[ 39 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


an’ dat she’s rockin’ you ter sleep eve’y night while 
she watches fer yo’ Pa ter cum home f’um de war. 
Watchin’ fer ’im de same es she done while de war 
was fightin’, an’ den when dey was done killin’ one 
nurr an’ all dem what was lef’ cum back home, an’ 
Marse Willie, yo’ Pa, didn’ cum, po’ Miss Lilly, 
she never said er word — ^jes’ stan’ an’ look up de 
ab’nue an’ watch an’ wait des de same, never movin’ 
’cep’in’ ter rock you ter sleep, an’ watch on.” 

“And does she never weep.^” asked Rosalind, 
very softly. 

“ Lawd, no, honey. She ain’ never is cried yit 
in all dese years, an’ she ain’ never is ’peared ter 
know dat you is done growed up. She’s des’ de 
same. She take eve’ything lak someone in er 
trance. 

“ When I ses ter ’er : ‘ Come eat yo’ dinner, Miss 
Lilly,’ she comes erlong lak er little chile to de 
dinin’ room, an’ she eats lak er butterfly, so light 
an’ dainty — not ernough ter feed er spafrer, an’ 
den when she gits thoo’, she goes back ter de same 
cheer on de gall’ry an’ takes ’er seat ergin an’ des 
looks up de road des de same. An’ when it gits 
dark, I goes ter her an’ ses, ‘ Come, go ter baid 
now, honey; hit’s gittin’ late,’ an’ den she say, 
‘ Bring me de baby. Mammy, an’ le’ me rock ’er ter 

[ 40 ] 


LOOKIN’ FER MARSE WILLIE 


sleep ’fo’ her Pa come home.’ An’ den I makes 
b’lieve I is handin’ you ter ’er, an’ she hoi’s out ’er 
arms an’ thinks she’s got you, an’ she sings dat 
same baby chune she’s been singin’ all dese years. 
Den when she git so tired an’ mos’ fall ter sleep, I 
leads ’er off ter baid. An’ de las’ word she say 
eve’y night de Lawd sen’ is, ‘ Now sing me ter sleep. 
Mammy, an’ wake me up when Willie comes ! ’ 

“ I bin hyarin’ ’er say dat all dese years an’ I 
ain’ never is lef’ ’er fer no freedom nor nuffin’.” 

The young daughter sobbed silently as she list- 
ened to the same sad story that ever greeted her 
brief returns to the home she had left only to en- 
deavor to preserve, by her brave eflPorts, for the 
refuge of the mother who still rocked her to sleep 
in fancy and passed the many years waiting for 
her loved one to return from the war. 

“ Miss Rose, you mus’n’ take on so, honey,” the 
old nurse said as she tried to comfort the girl; 
“ you is done all you could do fer yo’ Ma, er angel 
couldn’ do no mo’, an’ es long es we kin keep de 
house f’um bein’ sole so she kin stay hyar, she is 
heap mo’ happy den we-all is, an’ Marse Willie is 
jes’ ’bleedged ter ’pear ter ’er some day, — dat he is. 

“ I never will fergit de day Marse Willie rid 
down de ab’nue ter de war,” she said, standing 
[ 41 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


erect and pointing down the avenue of untrimmed 
cedars. “ I never will fergit dat day. Ole Prince 
pawed de groun’, an’ Jerry wuz er grinnin’ f’um 
year ter year — he so proud ter be settin’ on de 
black colt, gwine ter de war wid his young Marsa. 
You don’ ’member Jerry, honey, kase you wuz jes’ 
er baby, but Jerry he wuz my onlies’ chile, an’ I 
wuz er lookin’ at him fer de las’ time. We was 
all er standin’ right out hyar on dis ve’y gall’ry, 
waitin’ fer ter see ’em ride off to de war. Miss 
Lilly looked lak er snow-flake in ’er white linen 
dress, an’ ’er beautiful young face mos’ es white 
as de frock. But she never shed er tear — dat she 
didn’. She smile an’ wave ’er han’ an’ hurray an’ 
sing Dixie, an’ holt you ’way up, so Marse Willie 
c’d see you de las’ thing when he rid off. 

“ An’, honey, ole Missus never cry nurr, but she 
shuck lak de leaves on de tree. 1 de onlies one what 
wuz cryin’, but den, I jes’ couldn’ hoi’ in, I was jes 
^bleedged ter cry. I couldn’ he’p it. Seem lak I 
had ter cry fer ’em all an’ fer bofe my chillen gwine 
’way never ter cum back no mo’. 

“ Marse Willie, he look lak er king, an’ he set on 
Prince straight es er arrer; an’ when he done kiss 
you an’ yo’ Ma, he tuck my ole black han’ an’ he 
say, ‘ Mammy,’ he say, ‘ take keer uv my Lilly an’ 
[4g] 


LOOKIN’ FER MARSE WILLIE 


my Rose twell I comes back wid Jerry f’um de war. 
Gawd bless you.’ 

“ An’ I say, ‘ Yas, honey, don’ you worry ’bout 
dem; I gwine take keer uv ’em ontwell you an’ 
Jerry gits back.’ An’ I is tried ter keep my 
trus’ ; Hat I is. I ain’ never lef’ Miss Lilly fer no 
freedom nur nullin’. Seem lak I kin hyar de clat- 
ter uv dem horse hoofs gwine down de ab’nue, es 
Marse Willie rid off ter de war, ter dis day, an’ I is 
always lis’nin’ fer ter hyar ’em cum back. I done 
laid ole Mis’ ter res’ an’ I done raised you up, an’ — 
an’ I is done tuck keer uv Miss Lilly, an’ never 
’spec’s ter leave her twell Marse Willie comes ter 
claim ’er at de jedgment day — him an’ Jerry. 
Seem lak I kin hyar de clatter — ” The old nurse 
ceased suddenly to speak. 

“ Keep still. Miss Rose,” she whispered tenderly, 
‘‘ dar cum yo’ Ma right now. She done wake 
up, an’ she knows it’s gittin’ night-time an’ she is 
cornin’ ter rock you ter sleep. Don’ cry, honey, 
you jes’ set right hyar an’ lis’en when she sing. 
She’s des es happy es er angel. Miss Rose, an’ see 
how sweet ’er face is ! Na’y wrinkle — her skin lak 
er baby, dough ’er hair snow white.” 

A sad, pale woman came slowly toward the old 
nurse and the young girl upon the piazza. Her 
[ 43 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


hair was indeed white and her skin fair, but, as 
Aunt Mandy had said, not a wrinkle was visible 
upon her brow. A wistful look, however, saddened 
the once beautiful face, a wistfulness, pathetic in a 
childlike unconsciousness of all else save the long- 
ing for him for whom she seemed to be forever 
looking. 

The old nurse handed a chair to the mother, who, 
seeing the young girl (without a gleam of recog- 
nition, however), drew partly back. Seeing her 
hesitation. Aunt Mandy remarked, reassuringly: 

“ Hit’s only a fr’en’. Miss Lilly ; you needn’ mine 
her. What dat you say, honey? Fetch you de 
baby? Yassum, I’ll gib you de baby. Hyar she 
is right now.” Lillian Wallace held out her arms 
as if to receive the precious one, which the faithful 
nurse pretended to hand her. 

“ What did you say. Miss Lilly ? ” asked the old 
nurse, tenderly bending over her. “ What’s dat 
you say, honey? You so tired temight — you rud- 
der ole Mammy ter sing fer you? All right den — 
hoi’ yo’ little han’? Dat I will! How cole it is. 
What dat you say? You ’spec’ he gwine cum ter- 
night? Well, you des res’ ’gin Mammy’s arm, an’ 
I gwine wake you when he come. Des’ res’ on me. 
I gwine sing you de chune what Marse Willie lub 
[ 44 ] 


LOOKIN’ FER MARSE WILLIE 


mos’. Yassum, dat’s his fav’ite chune — Jacob’s 
Ladder — dat de one he lub bes’. Seem lak he’s 
boun’ fer ter hyar me right now.” 

Peering in vain down the avenue, and listening, 
as ever, for the sound of the steps that were never 
to come, the tired mother leaned back on the cush- 
ioned chair and seemed to sleep, one arm holding in 
imagination the baby to whom she had sung for 
twenty years. But to-night, it was the quivering 
voice of the nurse that fell upon the silent air. 
Mammy held tenderly the hand of her child, which 
she stroked caressingly, while she sang the old song 
that “ Willie loved,” sang it while the tears fell 
from the withered eyes, her trembling voice almost 
choked by uncontrollable emotion : 

“ I is clim’in’ Jacob’s ladder, 

Don’ you griebe after me. 

I is clim’in’ Jacob’s ladder, 

Don’ you griebe after me ; 

I don’ wan’ you ter griebe after me. 

“ I is goin’ home ter Jordan, 

Don’ you griebe after me. 

I is goin’ home ter Jordan, 

Don’ you griebe after me ; 

I don’ wan’ you ter griebe after me. 

“ I will wear dat crown uv glory, 

Don’ you griebe after me. 

[ 45 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


I will wear dat crown uv glory, 

Don’ you griebe after me ; 

I don’ wan’ you ter griebe after me.” 

Rosalind too was silently weeping. She had 
looked beseechingly at her dear one with a last 
longing hope for a spark of recognition — some 
faint remembrance — ^but in vain. Kneeling rever- 
ently, she pressed her face upon the arm of the 
mother, for whom, away among strangers, she had 
labored so faithfully and devotedly. 

The hand that Mammy had released for her to 
kiss grew colder and colder, and the chafing did 
not warm it. Aunt Mandy, who was more accus- 
tomed to the appearance of “ her chile,” soon no- 
ticed the rigid fingers and the pallid hue on the si- 
lent brow. Bending over her, she called, piteously 
and tenderly, ‘‘ Miss Lilly, honey, wake up ! How 
cole yo’ han’ is gittin’. Miss Lilly! Miss Lilly! 
Oh, Miss Lilly, wake up ! ” 

No answer — no answer came, save the sobbing 
sound of the daughter’s grief. Gathering the 
weeping girl within her arms, she cried : 

“ Miss Rose, Miss Rose, don’ weep ; Marse Wil- 
lie’s sperit is come an’ tucked my chile home at 
las’!” 


[ 46 ] 















Dat Chile 


“ he wa’n’ nair one uv dese hyar tow-headed 
tom-boys lak de res’ uv de chillun, I kin tell 
you ; dat chile look mo’ lak er sperit dan er 
pusson, an’ her hair look lak wheat straw, hit wuz 
so gole an’ yit so fair. I usen ter say, when de 
’lasses candy got de color uv dat chile’s hair, it wuz 
done pulled ernufF an’ fitten ter eat — an’ hit wuz 
too, 

“ She usen ter clam de trees lak er squi’l, an’ she 
look lak er rose bloomin’ on de limb uv dat big mag- 
nolia-tree. But she never to’ her frock nor skin 
her ban’s lak de res’ — dat she didn’. She wuz es 
dainty an’ sweet es er butterfly, an’ sing! um-m! 
She’d set up dar an’ sing lak er mockin’ bird de 
whole day long. Hit wuz es nach’al ter hyar dat 
chile singin’ dat when she went oflp ter school hit 
look lak all de birds an’ all de sunshine an’ all de 
flowers done gone wid her. But when she corned 
back, hit wuz lak de glory uv de sunrise, fer eve’y- 
thing seemed bright ergin. Yas, honey. Miss Isa- 
bel (fer dat wuz her name) wuz de light uv de 
place, an’ she wuz er glory-light too. 

“ She seemed ter think of eve’ybody but herse’f 

[ 49 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


while eve’ybody wuz sted’in’ ’bout des her. Dat is, 
her Gran’pa an’ me. Lawd, yas, chile, her Ma done 
died when she wuz born, an’ her Pa soon toiler after. 
Ole Marster des p’intedly worshipped dat baby, an’ 
he give her eve’ything in de worl’ she seem ter wish 
fer. I never ’spected ter see de time when Marster 
w’d er refused dat chile uv her wants ; but den, we 
kin never tell what gwine ter happen, an’ dat’s sho’. 
We ain’ certain uv nuffin, honey, but def, fer dat is 
boun’ ter come. An’ def did come when ole Mars- 
ter broke de rule. 

“ Hit wuz ’bout de cap’n. Yassum, Cap’n 
Franklin — Marse George I called him — he wuz jes’ 
f’um de war ’bout dat time wid de straps on his 
sleeves, an’ er likelier lookin’ young gent’mun you 
never seed. Dat chile, she des seem ter think dat 
de sun rise an’ set in dem shoulder-straps an’ I 
couldn’ see why ole Marster didn’ lak him too. But 
he des seem ter simply hate de sight uv him. 

“ Dat hurt Miss Isabel ter de quick, an’ de ’tempt 
ter keep ’legiance ter ’em bofe seem ter upset dat 
chile might’ly. But I never ’spected ter see de 
trouble dat I did. You see, dat chile wuz so young, 
an’ ole Marster so ole ; I reckon dat wuz de reason 
uv it all. It happened one night in de springtime 
— -de time when de birds is nestin’ an’ de flowers is 
[ 50 ] 







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DAT CHILE 


des beginnin’ fer ter bloom, an’ young folks gits 
foolish, lookin’ so much at de moon, dat I wuz 
settin’ in my cabin all erlone an’ I wuz er smokin’ 
my ole cob pipe. It was one dat Silas lef’ me 
when he died. I never tuck ter smokin’ till after 
dat — an’ den I only smoked uv nights kaze I missed 
him so. Well, honey, I wuz er settin’ dar sted’in’ 
’bout puttin’ up my pipe an’ gwine ter bed — fer it 
wuz gittin’ late. I set dar restin’ er minnit, an’ 
pres’n’y I heerd some light footfall by de do’ an’ 
de latch hit lift up an’ de do’ creaked open. 

“ ‘ Who dar ? ’ I said, reachin’ fer de fire-stick, 
an’ fo’ de Lawd ! ef it wa’n’ dat chile. 

«« < W-what in de name uv de Ian’ is you doin’ up 
dis time uv de night. Miss Isabel? ’ I say. ‘ What 
on de face uv de y earth is de matter? ’ 

“ ‘ Nuffin’, Mammy,’ she say, shettin’ de do’ an’ 
drawin’ up a cheer by de chimley. Den I see she 
got on gloves an’ ’er hat, an’ all dress up fer 
trabellin’. 

‘ Miss Bell,’ I say, ‘ what dis mean, honey? ’ 

“ ‘ Mammy,’ she say, ‘ you mustn’t git mad — 
but I — I can’ he’p it.’ 

“ ‘ Can’ he’p what? ’ I ax. 

“ ‘ I love him so,’ she say. 

“ ‘ Love who, chile? ’ I ax ergin. Wid dat, she 

[ 51 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


bus’ out crjin’ an’ flung ’er arms ’roun’ my nake 
an’ sob out : 

“ ‘ You know who it is, don’ you, Mammy? Oh, 
Mammy! Gran’pa, who used ter be so good ter 
me, is so cruel,’ she say. ‘ Now, Gran’ma ma’ied 
Gran’pa at sixteen, an’ I am mos’ seventeen,’ she 
say ; ‘ an’ Gran’pa says I — I can’ an’ George says 
I shall — an’ — an’ I’m so miserable, I’m — I’m gwine 
ter run ’way.’ 

“ ‘ Gwine run ’way I Bless Gawd ! What you 
gwine run ’way fer ? ’ I say. 

“ ‘ George won’ wait,’ she sob out, ‘ an’ — an’ I’m 
— he’s — he’s cornin’ fer me ternight — an’ oh. Mam- 
my! I’m gwine be ma’ied an’ I’m so miser’ble 
an’ so happy ! ’ 

“ ‘ Hyar ! hyar ! hyar ! ’ I lafs, an’ den I says : 
‘ You des hoi’ on, baby, an’ I gwine manage ole 
Marster. I gwine see dat he lets in.’ But ’f o’ I 
c’d move outen my tracks, I hyard er horse come 
clatt’in’ up, an’ ’fo’ I knowed what had happened, 
de Cap’n done jump down an’ open my do’ an’ 
says : ‘ Is you ready, darlin’ ? ’ 

“ I sprunged up an’ face him; an’ I say: ‘ No, 
Marse George, dis chile ain’ ready. You ain’ 
gwine ter ca’y her ’way f’um ’er gran’pa in dis 
way, nor f’um her ole mammy nurr. Ef you is a 
[ 62 ] 


DAT CHILE 


solger,’ I say, ‘ you ain’ brave ter come hyar, 
stealin’ my chile in de night.’ 

“ ‘ Don’ was’e yo’ href’, ole lady,’ he say. ‘ Her 
gran’pa took matters in his own ban’s when he 
wanted her gran’ma,’ he say, ‘ an’ he seem ter have 
forgotten how it feels ter be in love wid a girl,’ 
he say. ‘ An’ he rufuses me her han’, an’ I’m 
gwine ter be solger enough ter take her off by 
storm.’ 

“ ‘ Dat you ain’,’ I say. ‘ I gwine ’larm dis 
whole place an’ raise er storm, sho’ nuff.’ Den, 
chile, I des’ ’gun ter call des es loud es I could 
holler. ‘ Oh, Marster, oh, Marster ! Unc’ Peter ! 
Unc’ Peter ! ’ But knowin’ dey wuz bofe deaf, I 
den call fer de dawg. ‘ Hyar, Wolf, hyar. Wolf, 
hyar ! sick ’im, sick ’im ! ’ I call ‘ mur-rder ! 
mur-rder!’ Well, chile, by dat time ole Wolf 
’gun to yelp an’ bark an’ he an’ me made sich a 
fuss terge’r dat Br’er Peter come runnin’ out, an’ 
ole Marster hyard de fuss an’ he run out an’ shoot 
off his pistil, say in’: ‘ Whar de fief.? Whar de 
fief.? ’ Well, Marse George, he cotch Miss Isabel 
up in his arms, an’ set her on de pony he done 
saddle up, an’ honey, de wors’ uv it all, he den 
cotched me roun’ de wais’ — ’fo’ Gawd, he did — an’ 
he sot me up on his own horse, right behine his 
[ 53 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


saddle, jumped up hisse’f, give er cut ter de horse, 
an’ off we went! 

“ Dar we wuz, des er flyin’ erlong. ‘ Lawd, 
Lawd I dear Jesus 1 ’ I called out, ‘ have mussy ! have 
mussy! Oh, Marse George, Marse George, le’ me 
down ! Le’ me down, Marse George,’ I say. 

“ ‘ Hoi’ on, ole ’ooman,’ he say ; ‘ we’ll soon be 
dar,’ he say. All dat time. Miss Bell wuz on her 
own li’l pony, flyin’ ’long by de side uv us lake er 
sperit in de night. My bref wuz mos’ gone, my 
body wuz mos’ broke in two, an’ my eyes wuz mos’ 
put out uv my haid, I wuz so terryfied. Well, 
chile, hit wuz des sun-up when we ’rived at de li’l 
Pistopal Church des at de aige uv de town. Den 
he sort er ease up, an’ he tuck me down an’ almos’ 
tote me in de church-house. Dar wuz er preacher 
an’ er lady an’ two odder gent’muns in unyforms. 
Dey tuck us in an’ de preacher he say some pra’rs, 
an’ pernounce ’um man an’ wife. Des den we 
hyard a big fuss outside, an’ bless Gawd! hit wuz 
ole Marster. He done drove up wid de fam’ly 
ca’iage an’ de horses wuz white wid foam. He 
walk right in de church-house, an’ he say, wid his 
face pale as def : 

‘ Jes’ in time fer ter give my blessin’.’ Den he 
kiss de bride an’ shuck ban’s wid de groom an’ de 
[ 64 ] 


DAT CHILE 


urrs, an’ he give his arm ter Miss Isabel, an’ say: 
‘ We’ll go home ter breakfas’.’ An’ he ’scorted 
’um ter de ca’iage. He put us eve’y one in — me 
an’ all — an’ tuck de whole uv us back home. Well, 
it looked too good ter be true, honey, an’ hit wuz. 

‘‘ Ole Marster wuz jes’ es perlite es er fiddler, an’ 
he sorter look out de ca’iage winder, so es ter per- 
ten’ not ter see Marse George holdin’ Miss Isabel’s 
ban’s. Dey didn’ seem ter mine me, but dey seem 
ter want ole Marster ter look de yother way, an’ so 
he did. When he got home, it wuz jes’ ’bout 
breakfas’ time, an’ Aunt Becky she done set de 
table an’ ’range eve’ything nice an’ fine, fer ole 
Marster had done give de order ’fo’ dey bring de 
ca’iage roun’ fer him ter pursue us. Well, I wuz 
terrible shuck up f’um de ride; I wuz mos’ daid, 
an’ I corned mighty nigh dyin’, I kin tell you. 
Sometimes I wishes I had, honey, fer de trouble 
what come ter me atterwards wuz wors’ dan def. 
Yassum, dat it wuz. 

“ Well, when de breakfas’ wuz over — an’ hit wuz 
a mighty cur’ous one, I kin tell you — ole Marse he 
say he wish fer ter speak wid Cap’n Franklin in de 
liberry. Miss Bell she went ter de drawin’ room fer 
ter wait while dey talked in de liberry. 

“ Ole Marster wuz stan’in’ by er table when 

[ 66 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


Marse George walked in an’ on de table, honey, 
wuz two big horse pistils — all loaded an’ set. 

“ ‘ You is insulted my honor,’ ’sclaimed ole Mars- 
ter, ‘ an’ I ’spects you ter meet me at de bottom uv 
de garden in half er hour.’ 

“ Well, de cap’n thought dat ole Marster had 
done fergive him when he fotched us all home so 
perlitely, an’ he wuz so ’stonished he couldn’ speak. 

“ ‘ You is er coward ! ’ ole Marster ’sclaimed 
ergin. ‘ I challenge you ter fight, sir, an’ you is 
afeered ter speak.’ 

“ ‘ I’m not afeered,’ Marse George say at las’, 
‘ but I did not expec’ dis ter be de result atter yo’ 
hospertal’ty — an’ besides,’ he say, ‘ you is ole an’ 
I is young, an’ I do not wan’ ter take advantage of 
you, sir.’ 

‘‘ ‘ Coward ! ’ ole Marster ’sclaimed ergin. ‘ You 
is er coward, sir, an’ unworthy my gran’daugh- 
ter. Defen’ yo’se’f ! ’ With dat, he jucked up de 
pistil an’ Marse George he jucked up de yuther, 
an’ de nex’ minit de shots runged out. An’, chile, 
when we got in dar, de cap’n wuz stretched on de 
flo’ wid de blood cornin’ f’um er hole in his bre’s’ — 
an’ ole Marster wuz stan’in’ over him, plum* crazy! 
Yas, chile, he wuz plum’ crazy when he wuz actin’ 
so perlite at de weddin’. 

[ 56 ] 


DAT CHILE 


‘‘ Lawd, yassum, chile, de cap’n, he died wid his 
haid on my baby’s lap. An’ he tell her not to 
griebe an’ tole her how it all wuz, an’, chile, dey 
found out atter he wuz daid, dat he never shot at 
ole Marster ’tall — he des’ p’int his pistil at de wall, 
an’ de bullet is right dar in de top ceilin’ uv de 
liberry ter dis day. 

“No’m, dey didn’ do nuffin wid ole Marster — for 
he never knowed nobody f’um dat day ter de day 
he died. He wuz stark mad, chile, an’ Unc’ Peter 
had ter nuss an’ watch him lak er chile, an’ ter de 
las’ he wuz talkin’ ’bout de ‘ honor uv de fam’ly.’ 
But Miss Bell wuz de one to break my heart. She 
des set on de cap’n’s grabe, day in an’ day out, an’ 
wouldn’ say nuffin’ ’cep’in’ sometimes she’d sing; 
but den I had ter go whar I couldn’ hyar her. Hit 
wuz de lonesomes’ soun’in’ singin’ I ever hyard, an’ 
I couldn’ stan’ it. You see. Miss Isabel wuz de 
light uv my eyes, an’ she wuz all I had, an’ I wuz 
all she had, ’cep’in’ Marse George an’ her Gran’pa, 
an’ when she los’ bofe uv dem, she seem ter fergit 
her po’ ole Mammy. She des set dar fixin’ flowers 
all de time, an’ she eat so little, she des starve ter 
def. Yassum, ter be sho’ she died — dey all died — 
but when my baby went, de light went out, an’ 
my trouble done come. Hit looked lak all de birds, 
[ 67 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


an’ all de sunshine an’ all de flowers done gone wid 
’er, an’ nuflin’ but darkness done settle over de Ian’. 
I goes ter de grabe-yard an’ ’ten’s ter de grabes, 
an’ sometimes I seem ter hyar dat chile singin’ in de 
magnolia-tree, lak she sunged when er chile, an’ 
den I seem ter hyar ’er singin’ dat lonesome way lak 
she wuz er singin’ fer her daid love — on his grabe 
— an’ sometimes I seem ter see her stan’in’ dar 
fixin’ flowers ergin an’ I kin hyar her des as plain 
sayin’, ‘ Sleep well, sleep well, sweet be dy rerpose.* 
Den she disappears, an’ I don’ hyar nuflin’ mo’ twell 
she come ergin. Ef you will come an’ see me some 
evenin’ ergin, honey, jes’ erbout dark, I will show 
you de grabe-yard, an’ maybe you kin hyar de 
sperit uv dat chile, singin’ dat grabe-song, ‘ Sleep 
well, sweet be dy rerpose.’ ” 


[ 68 ] 


TOT. 


-TOT 


Uncle Tom’s Matrimonial 

Difficulties 



Uncle Tom’s Matrimonial 
Difficulties 


T here was a shuffling sound at the door, 
a sound as of many feet in restless col- 
lision trying in vain to extricate them- 
selves from each other. But, indeed, it was only 
a single pair, and such a pair! The plantation 
shoemaker had never been able to give a number to 
the last for Uncle Tom’s shoes ; it was called simply 
“ Uncle Tom’s big las’ ; ” and though plantation 
brogans had long since given place to “ store 
boots,” Uncle Tom still patronized the shoemaker 
“ wid de big las’,” for store shoes were impossible 
for his “ tremendous understanding.” A new pair 
of these miniature gunboats adorned the feet of 
Uncle Tom as he mounted the steps of the mansion 
on the present occasion. He was trying vainly to 
tread lightly and to keep back the squeaking as 
he turned the door-knob of the house of Mr. John 
Fairfax, the son of his old master, now at rest. 

Mr. Fairfax had said “ come in ” repeatedly, 
and yet many minutes went by before Uncle Tom 
seemed to be able to manage his newly broganed 
[ 61 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


feet or to make use of his equally big hands for un- 
latching the door. With a much confused air and 
many apologies for the late interruption, the old 
man pulled his forelock, cleared his throat, and 
stood like a culprit before the bar of justice. 

“ Well, Uncle Tom,” said the young lawyer, 
wondering at the old man’s embarrassment, “ what 
can I do for you this evening.'^ ” 

“ Ef you please, Marse John,” the old man re- 
plied, gratefully, “ I is come fer ter speak wid you 
on de cur’ous axions uv Aunt Becky.” Mr. Fair- 
fax had risen, and, taking a glass from the table of 
his study, filled it from a sparkling decanter and 
handed it to his father’s faithful coachman of past 
days. 

“ That will help you to brace up. Uncle Tom,” 
he remarked. “ You seem a little upset this 
evening.” 

“ Yas, sir, I is, thank you, thank you, Marse 
John ; I is ve’y much obleeged ter you fer dis dram, 
sir, fer I is powerful wor’ied dis ebenin’, an’ dat’s 
how come I is hyar ter ax yo’ invice. Lawdy, 
Marse John, dis do tase lak ole times — I feels bet- 
ter a’ready, thanky, sir, thanky. What dat you 
say, Marse John.^ Who Aunt Becky.? She’s my 
wife, Marse John, an’ I calls ’er Aunt Becky kase 
[ 62 ] 



1 is cum fer ter speak wid you on de cur'ous axions 

uv Aunt Becky ” 




TOM’S MATRIMONIAL DIFFICULTIES 


I had growed up ter call ’er dat ’fo’ I ma’ied ’er, 
an’ I does so yit out uv ’spec’ ter ’er aige. 

“You see, Marse John, I is bin in de ma’iage 
business more’n onct. De fus’ time I got ma’ied I 
tuk de bes’ lookin’ yaller gal on de plantation, an’ 
we wuz gittin’ ’long well ’nuff twell dat long- 
laiged banjo-picker, Ned Wilkins, come erlong, an’ 
de fus’ thing I knowed, Nancy (yas, sir, dat wuz 
her name) done ’loped off wid Ned. Well, de nex’ 
time I ma’ied I tuk de blackes’ gal I could fin’, an’ 
she would ’er done mighty well but she tuk an’ died 
an’ leP me wid ten chillun ter keep keer uv, an’ de 
younges’ one jes’ a baby; so I looked erroun’ fer 
ter s’ply ’em wid er mammy, an’ in two weeks’ time 
I axed a mejum colored gal, des half yaller an’ half 
black, an’ she ’cepted me ve’y willin’, but f’um de 
fus* day she an’ de chillun couldn’ ’gree. Dey fit 
an’ dey fought an’ made things so lively ’roun’ 
de house, I was jes’ ’bleeged ter stay ’way all I 
could. 

“ An’ one day when I git home, I found dat 
Tildy (yas, sir, dat wuz her name) done pack her 
things an’ lef’ me an’ ma’ied somebody else. So 
dar I wuz, Marse John, in er bad fix ergin, an’ had 
ter turn my ’tention ter de sitywation, so I des’ 
made up my mine ter let de young gals erlone, an’ 
[ 63 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


ter git one ole ’nuff ter ten’ ter her business an’ de 
chillun an’ not be lookin’ at de odder mens. 

“ I looked all ’roun’, but dar wa’n’ no one what 
I seem ter set my fancy on. No, sir, na’y one. So 
one day Br’er Simon call my ’tention ter Aunt 
Becky, He say how dat Aunt Becky would suit 
de ’casion fus’ class. Dat she wuz er fine cook an’ 
de bes’ han’ on de place fer raisin’ chillun, do’ she 
ain’ never is had none uv her own. Kase you know, 
Marse John, no one ain’ never axed her ter de altar 
befo’. Hit tuk me mighty nigh a week ter settle 
de matter in my own mine, kaze Aunt Becky ain’ 
much ter look at noways, but de chillun fret me so, 
I made my mine up ter shet my eyes an’ take ’er, 

‘‘An’ f’um de ve’y fus’, Marse John, de house 
look lak bran’ new. De ole soul seem so grateful 
fer ter git ma’ied, she seem ter git young, an’ she 
an’ de chillun took ter one nurr f’um de start. 
Marse John, Aunt Becky is sutny done well by de 
chillun. She done riz eve’y one uv um up, an’ larnt 
’um how ter cook an’ clean an’ do mos’ eve’ything, 
an’ she sutny is bin er good cook. I ain’ had no 
fault ter find kase de greens was so good an’ greasy 
hit makes my mouf water ter des talk erbout ’um. 
But you see, Marse John, de chillun is all growed 
up now an’ mos’ uv ’um is done ma’ied an’ lef’, an’ 
[ 64 ] 


TOM’S MATRIMONIAL DIFFICULTIES 


Aunt Becky she ain’ es young es she wuz, an’ she 
boss me so ; de long an’ short uv it is, I is fixin’ fer 
ter git me an’urr wife. No, sir, Marse John, I 
ain’ shame’ : de white folks does dat way, an’ we is 
free ter git ’vorcements too, but you see Aunt 
Becky she is unreasonable; she is actin’ mos’ on- 
grateful an’ scand’lous. 

“ She is done got eve’y one uv my chillun sot 
ag’in me an’ dey th’eaten ter conger de gal what I 
got in my mind, an’ say how dey gwine hab me 
’rested an’ put in jail. I never had so much 
trouble sence I wuz born, an’ I come ter see ef you 
can’ he’p me out. Yas, sir, Marse John, I is putty 
hard gone on Fanny (dat’s her name) ; she’s sich 
er likely gal an’ es frisky es er young sheep, an’ — 
an’ — I can’ sleep fer thinkin’ ’bout her. I done 
buy ’er de reddes’ caliky frock I kin fine in de 
sto’ ; hit fairly put yo’ eyes out ter look at it, hit 
so red ; an’ I is done got her er ring wid de bigges’ 
glass set in it I could fine in de town. Hit cos’ me 
two bits in silber. 

“ I done tole Aunt Becky dat I would let ’er keep 
de spinnin’ wheel an’ de new cyards an’ de new 
sifter, an’ eve’ything mos’, an’ dat she could live in 
de shed room an’ he’p wid de work. But de way 
she rar’ an’ charge hit ain’ safe ter be in de house 
[ 66 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


wid her, so I done ’cided ter leave ’er an’ de chil- 
lun — dem what ain’ ma’ied — an’ I is gwine ter live 
wid Fanny’s folks. What dat you say, Marse 
John? Git ’vorcement? Yas, sir, dat’s what I’m 
hyar fer dis minit, so she can’ have me ’rested an’ 
put no conger on Fanny. Bless de Lawd, Marse 
John, I knowed you could fix it. Yas, sir. I’ll call 
ergin nex’ week, yas, sir. Thanky, Marse John, I 
gwine see de Jedge tomorrer ef I live.” 

A week after, the same shuffling sound announced 
another visit from Uncle Tom, who, looking sadder 
and more perplexed, excused himself by saying : 

“ Jes’ er word, Marse John, ef you please, sir. 
I is come ter tell you ’bout de way Fanny done 
serve me. Des’ es soon es she git her ban’s on dat 
caliky frock an’ de ring wid de big set, she done 
sont me ’er imperdent letter what Uncle Simon done 
spell out ter me. It say dat she an’ dat good-fer- 
nothin’ Andy done run erway an’ git ma’ied. Dat 
all she wanted wuz ter git de red frock an’ de ring, 
dat she ain’ had no notion uv ma’in’ her gran’pa ef 
her gran’pa did marry his gran’ma, an’ — an’ — an’ 
— she’s done lef’ me an’ I is mos’ ’stracted. 

“ I done see de Jedge an’ wuz ’rangin’ fer de 
’vorcement papers an’ de lisum, an’ I is even paid 
de preacher in ervance, an’ now she won’ hab me. 

[ 66 ] 


TOM’S MATRIMONIAL DIFFICULTIES 


But dat ain’ de wors’. I ’spected ter git ma’ied dis 
ebenin’, an’ I done move over ter Fanny’s people, 
an’ sence Fanny done run erway, dey is turnt me 
out an’ I ain’ got no whar ter go, an’ I is in a wors’ 
fix dan ebber. 

“ I went back ter my own home, an’ bless de 
Lawd! Aunt Becky done lock an’ bar de do’ on 
me, an’ she an’ de chillun all inside dar larffin’ at 
me, an’ say dey ain’ gwine le’ me come home no 
mo’ ; dat dey’ll hab me ’rested ergin ef I breaks de 
do’ open an’ will scald me wid hot water, an’ dey is 
actin’ mos’ scan’lous, an’ I is come ter see ef dar 
ain’ no other paper what I kin sign dat kin he’p me 
out an’ make Aunt Becky berhabe herse’f an’ le’ me 
come home. Lawd, Marse John, what makes you 
larf so? I is so miser’ble! Ef you will jes’ he’p 
me out onct mo’, I gwine fotch you de bigges’ 
water-million I kin raise in my patch nex’ year, an’ 
de fus’ possum what go up de ’simmon tree dis fall. 

“ Yas, sir, I promise! Yas, sir, I sutny swear 
I gwine let ’lone gittin’ ma’ied ergin an’ jes’ try 
ter make out wid Aunt Becky to de een, fer she 
sutny is er good cook. 

“ I knowed you’d fix it, Marse John, for I hyar 
tell dat you lawyers kin fix sich matters any way de 
men wants, an’ dat how come I ter talk wid you. 
[ 67 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


“You gwine see Aunt Becky? Yas, sir, Pll — 
I’ll give you my word, I’ll stick ter ’er ef it kills 
me. Dat I will. Thanky, Marse John, thanky, 
sir. I sho’ gwine ’member dat water-million an’ 
dat possum.” 


[ 68 ] 


Ole Bline Hannah 



Ole Bline Hannah 

A unt HANNAH RANDALL, or “ole 
bline Hannah,” as she was called, was said 
to be a witch. At any rate, she could 
“ conger ” people and put them under “ spells,” 
and even though totally blind and completely help- 
less from the effects of rheumatism and old age, 
everybody on the plantation was afraid of her. 
Aunt Hannah lived alone in her own cabin, having 
outlived her husband and all of her children; the 
latter, however, died while young. There were 
some who whispered that Aunt Hannah had not 
taken care of them as she should have done and was 
in some way responsible for their early departure 
from this world. But no one dared to breathe it 
aloud for fear of being congered. Though alone 
and without a family to care for her, blind Hannah 
lived better than anyone else on the place. She 
called on anybody and everybody for whatever she 
wanted. At first her helplessness had appealed to 
the tender hearts of the negroes, and coupled with 
the influence she held over their superstitious nat- 
ures by her accredited powers of witchcraft, the old 
crone soon realized the importance of her position 
[ 71 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


and ruled her subjects with a rod of red-hot iron. 
Her wants and demands were made too in the form 
of prognostications. She would sing out so all 
could hear her, “ Sis’ Becky gwine bring my brek- 
fas’ in de mornin’ ; I sees fried chicken, an’ I smells 
fatty bread.” 

That was no less than an order for breakfast — 
and no one dared to forget the notice. In the same 
way, she would sing out (if she heard footsteps 
passing) : ‘‘ Sis’ Tildy gwine scrub an’ clean my 
house fer me ter-day — an’ I see Sis’ Mandy 
mendin’ up my clo’es — an’ I smells fresh buttermilk 
f’um de house.” It is needless to say that the news 
was carried around the quarters at once, and even a 
message was sent to “ de house ” to tell Mrs. Ran- 
dall that blind Hannah wanted buttermilk. In 
that way the old woman was fed, clothed, and kept 
clean. Her bucket was always filled with fresh 
water from the spring, and her yard was kept 
swept cleaner than any other in the quarters. In 
the evening. Aunt Hannah always had a gathering 
of friends in her cabin. Everybody wanted to 
hear Aunt Hannah talk. Her “ experiences ” were 
a never-ending source of wonder and her visions 
the most mysterious ever heard of. And then again 
the fear of spells of “ conger ” which she some- 
[ 72 ] 


OLE BLINE HANNAH 


times cast over those undutiful to her, charmed 
many a one to her circle who would have gladly 
stayed away. 

But Aunt Hannah was quick to ask, “ Whar is 
Sis’ Lucy? ” or “ Whar is Br’er Jake? ” And if 
“ Sis’ Lucy ” or “ Br’er Jake ” were to be taken 
unexpectedly with a chill, or have a little mishap 
of any kind, it would immediately be rumored that 
“ ole bline Hannah done cas’ er spell on ’em, kaze 
dey didn’ go ter see her.” And so it was, that 
while despising her and afraid of her, the entire 
plantation was at her feet in abject slavery. 

Her domineering selfishness was almost unbear- 
able at times, and many a rancoring heart wished 
her in the other world, and especially the hearts of 
the plantation children. They couldn’t do any- 
thing without some interference from old Hannah, 
and they dared not “ sass ” her for fear of “ de 
spell.” 

Poor “ Little Joe ” hated her most of all. One 
day he came from a long day’s fishing with his 
one treasured prize tucked inside his ragged jacket, 
for Aunt Hannah could smell if she couldn’t see, 
and so he held it tightly mside and skirted the cab- 
in of the witch to the very bottom of the garden, 
and was creeping by to his home a few cabins 
[ 73 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


away, when his poor little heart stood still as the 
well-known screech of the old crone called out, 

“ Is dat you, Joe? ” 

The cracking of a tiny twig underfoot had be- 
trayed ‘‘ Little Joe,” even though creeping by with 
his most cautious tread. 

“ Is dat you, Joe? ” she called out again. “ How 
many fish you got dar ? ” 

Now Joe had never mentioned his intention of 
going fishing, and his woolly naps would have 
stood up on end had it been possible for them to un- 
kink, for it was a terrible mystery to him how Aunt 
Hannah could have detected his tread and the fact 
of his having gone fishing when he had told no 
one, not even his Mammy, and when he had so care- 
fully held his prize under the ragged jacket on the 
further side from Aunt Hannah’s direction. 

“ Little Joe ” stood still at the question, a chilly 
sensation ran up and down his back — while his 
wool, as before stated, felt a strong desire to un- 
kink. 

“ I — I — des got one. Aunt Hannah, an’ — an’ I 
wuz bringin’ it ter you for yo’ supper,” he replied 
as soon as he could catch breath. 

“ Dat’s er lie,” Aunt Hannah responded. “ I 
know dat’s er lie, fer I hyeard you sneakin’ by, 
[ 74 ] 





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OLE BLINE HANNAH 


tryin’ ter make b’lieve ’twarn’ eben you. I kin 
hyar an’ kin smell ef I w blin’. Jes’ you bring ’im 
here an’ Ma’y Jane — ^yas, I sees Ma’y Jane fryin’ 
’im fer me right now. What kine uv er fish is 
it? ” 

“ Hit’s er cat-fish, an’ hit’s er big one at dat,” 
said Joe with an effort at being polite. 

Aunt Hannah took hold of the sticky thing and 
smelled it closely and carefully. 

“ Whar dat squr^l I smells dat’s been ’long side 
uv dis fish ? ” she exclaimed. “ ’Tain’ no use fer 
ter lie, kaze I knows you’se got ’im tucked erway 
in yo’ pocket.” 

“ Hit ain’ no ’count,” Joe answered, feebly. 
“ Hit’s des er young one.” 

“Hit’s good ’nough fur replied Aunt 

Hannah. “ Des you han’ ’im out, an’ I see Ma’y 
Jane bilin’ ’im right now wid some new I’sh 
taters. I ’low I gwine git er good game feas’ fer 
onct.” 

Joe was choking with inward rage and grief — 
his childish disappointment was so mingled with 
indignation that he could hardly control the sobs 
that rose to his throat. He dared not, however, 
show the slightest hesitation, and so pulling out the 
tiny squirrel which he had tucked even more closely 
[ 76 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


away, he handed it over to the woman and bravely 
whistled as he walked away for fear Aunt Han- 
nah would divine his feelings and cast a spell on 
him. He stopped at Mary Jane’s to say ‘‘ole 
bline Hannah.” That was notice enough to Mary 
Jane, for she well knew it to be a “ comman’ f’um 
de witch,” and so she immediately went to receive 
her orders about cooking the “ game feas’.” 

Mary Jane was one of the motherly matrons of 
the quarters. She was good-natured, kind-hearted 
— and fat. She was a good cook and she loved to 
eat. She was ever willing to prepare a meal for 
the witch, as she generally got a bite for herself. 
She hurried along to do the bidding, while poor 
Little Joe trudged sadly homeward. 

“ I wish de debble would ketch ’er,” he re- 
marked as he flung himself down on his Mammy’s 
cabin floor. 

“De debble wouldn’t hab ’er,” his Mammy re- 
plied, for Aunt Nancy divined that something 
was the matter with Little Joe, and she needed no 
explanation of the cause of his grief, after he 
made the remark. 

Nobody but the “ witch ” ever molested her crip- 
pled boy — for Joe was a small hunchback — ^and 
that was the cause of his being called “ little.” 
[ 76 ] 


OLE BLINE HANNAH 


‘‘What ’id she git out’n you dis time, Joe?” 
asked the mother, with a tender solicitude in her 
voice. 

“ De onl’es’ fish I kotch an’ de onl’es’ squr’l ” 
sobbed the boy. 

“ Dat do seem hard,” remarked Aunt Nancy. 
“ But I reckon dar’s mo’ fish in de creek, an’ mo* 
squr’ls in de trees; an’ de nex’ time you mus’ des 
cut ercross de bottom an’ come up dis een uv de 
quarters — den she kyan’ smell ’um.” 

“ Hat’s des’ what I done,” sobbed J oe, still bit- 
terly crying. “ I crope by des es still es er mouse, 
but Aunt Hannah gwine hyar you no matter how 
still you is. I des hope dem fish-bones will choke 
’er ter def!” 

“ You gwine git congered, fus’ thing you know, 
boy. Ole bline Hannah ain’ no witch fer nuffin’ — 
you better look out what you say ’bout ’er. Dar 
comes Unc’ Sy, right now. You’d better shet yo’ 
mouf, I kin tell you.” 

“ How you do, Br’er Silas ! ” she exclaimed cor- 
dially as Uncle Sy stepped briskly and suddenly 
up to the door-step. 

“ I is well myse’f, thank you — ^how you do. Sis’ 
Nancy,” he replied, politely. “ What dat I hyar? 
Who dat? Dat you, Joe? What de matter? 
[ 77 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


You ain’t sick, is you? ” he asked kindly, seeing the 
child in tears. 

“ No, sir,” replied Joe, “ but I ain’ ve’y power- 
ful well, Unc’ Sy. I is been in de hot sun all day.” 

“ Well, you better take my in-vice an’ stay out’n 
de sun all you kin dis season, fer de chills is er 
gittin’ mighty bad, I hearn tell,” said Uncle Silas. 

Little Joe grew more quiet as he stretched him- 
self on the floor and kept his eyes shut as he lay 
there thinking. 

Uncle Silas glanced at him every now and then, 
for he was very fond of the boy. He leaned back 
in the best split-bottom chair, and conversed with 
“ Sis’ Nancy ” while she patched away on Joe’s 
Sunday breeches, quite cheerfully, considering the 
size of the patches and the number of the holes. 

All of a sudden Uncle Silas cleared his throat 
quite hastily as if suddenly remembering what had 
brought him to the cabin. 

“ I declar,” he exclaimed, ‘‘ I is done cl’ar forgot 
to tell you ’bout Sis’ Hannah, Sis’ Nancy. Is you 
hyard de news ? ” 

“ Hyard what news ? What is you talkin’ ’bout, 
Br’er Sy? ” asked Sis’ Nancy. 

“ Why, de ole bline sister is erbout ter choke ter 
def wid er bone in ’er frote, I hyard tell es I come 

[ 78 ] 


OLE BLINE HANNAH 


erlong, an’ Marse Tom is done come over wid de 
toof pinchers, fer ter pull it out, but he can’ git er 
hoi’ uv it, an’ I spec’ we gwine hah er fun’al.” 

Poor Joe ! he was not responsible for the smile of 
satisfaction that lit up his ugly little black face. 
He turned his head so that Uncle Silas wouldn’t ob- 
serve the effect of his words. 

“ I ’clar’ ter goodness ! ” exclaimed Aunt Nancy, 
“ I ’clar’ ter goodness — dat look lak er conger, 
Br’er Sy.” 

“ Hit sho’ do,” replied her guest. “ Hit sho’ 
do, an’ I wouldn’ lak ter be de one ter conger de 
witch, kaze ef she lives, she’ll put de wus’ spell on 
dem, an’ ef she dies, her sperit gwine ter ha’nt ’um 
fer de res’ uv dar days.” 

The smile died out of Little Joe’s features; he 
turned first cold, and then hot, and then began to 
shake with a chill. 

“What’s de matter, Joe?” asked the mother, 
seeing an unusual agitation in the little limp figure 
on the floor. “ What’s de matter, honey ? ” 

“ I wishes I nebber had er gone fishin’,” sobbed 
the boy. “ I never meant no wrong an’ I nebber 
’grudged Aunt Hannah ef I was mad.” 

“ Wuz dat you what gib ’er de fish, Joe? ” asked 
Uncle Sy, bending over the boy. “ Well, le’ me tell 
[ 79 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


you, sonny, what’s er fac’. Hit ain’ yo’ fault an’ 
hit ain’ you what is congered Aunt Hannah; dat 
fish wuz de caus’ uv de conger — ^kaze she nebber had 
no biz’niss takin’ hit erway f’um er hunchback ef 
she is bline, an’ whoever it is what’s done congered 
Sis’ Hannah ain’ got no grudge *gmst you. So 
you needn’ be ’feer’d.” 

The comforting words acted like a charm on 
Little Joe. He sat up with a hopeful, happy look 
on his face. 

‘‘ Den I hopes she’ll die sho’,” he exclaimed. 
“Unc’ Sy, dat fish wuz de putties’ fish I ever kotch, 
an’ dat squr’l wuz de fattes’ squr’l I eber seen.” 
The memory of his disappointment brought the 
tears again to the surface. 

“ Dat’s er unfergibin’ sperit, Joe,” remarked 
Aunt Nancy. “We mus’ fergibe, ef we eber 
’spec’s ter be fergiben. I prays dat de Lord will 
hab mussy on her soul, fer Sis’ bline Hannah has 
been er miz’ry ter de plantation long ’nough — an’ 
I hopes de Lord gwine ter take ’er an’ hab mussy 
on ’er soul.” 

“ Dat’s what we all hopes,” remarked fat Mary 
Jane, who arrived at the door just as Aunt Nancy 
made her last remark. “ Dat’s what we all hopes, 
an’ J is come ter tell you dat Sis’ bline Hannah is 
[ 80 ] 


OLE BLINE HANNAH 


done choked ter def, an’ we hopes de Lord gwine 
hab mussy on ’er soul. 

“ Br’er Sy,” she continued, ‘‘ you is invited ter 
de ‘ settin’-up.’ Marse Tom is done loant us two 
gre’t big silber dollars fer ter lay on ’er eyes — 
kaze dey half open an’ ain’ shet good; and Miss 
Sally done sont us er nice new nightgown fer de 
swoud, 

“We is done laid ’er on de coolin’ boa’d an’ I’se 
done put de coffee on ter bile — an’ so des’ es soon 
es you gits ready, you an’ Sis’ Nancy kin jine us 
fer ter set up at de watchin’. Hit’s gwine ter be 
de bigges’ fun’al ever seed in de quarters, fer no- 
body ain’ gwine risk bein’ congered by stayin’ 
erway, I kin tell you.” 

The removal of blind Hannah was a relief and a 
rest to the whole plantation, notwithstanding which 
fact the funeral was the biggest and the weeping 
the loudest ever known or heard in the quarters. 

It seemed impossible to make grief enough over 
the departed sister. But gradually the loud la- 
ments over her sorrowful end ceased and the rest- 
less dread of her “ conger,” and the “ spells ” it 
was feared she had left, disappeared from the 
minds of the superstitious. 

Little Joe got well of the chills which had really 

[ 81 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


taken hold of him on the day of the fishing, and 
even became venturesome enough to speak of his 
“ las’ gif’ ter Aunt Hannah.” 

In this way, perhaps, the death of the old witch 
became associated with Joe’s “ las’ gif’ ” and the 
cripple boy became in consequence a greater favor- 
ite than ever on the plantation. No one ever both- 
ered the little humpback again, and there was 
always a kind word of welcome when it was an- 
nounced, “ Dar comes Li’l Joe whose fish-bone done 
kill ole bline Hannah.” 

The two silver dollars which Marse Tom donated 
to help close the eyes of the old woman were given 
to Little Joe, as a compensation, we presume, for 
the loss of the fish that proved so effectual in its sad 
mission. Little Joe kept the two great big silver 
dollars tied in an old rag around his neck, and 
whenever he felt particularly friendly he would 
display his hoarded fortune and tell you about his 
“ las’ gif’ ” and how the money had been “ giv’ him 
by Marse Tom fer ter keep in ’membrance uv ole 
bline Hannah.” 


[ 82 ] 



“Er White Horse Turnt 

Loose ” 



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“Er White Horse Turnt 
Loose” 

A PLANTATION SERMON 


Preached in the Bethlehem Chapel, Near Greens- 
boro, Ala. 



E tex’ uv my summon dis ebenin’, is tex’ 
number two uv de Reberlations : 


^ ‘ Er white horse turnt loose in heb- 

ben an’ de reins thow’d ober his nake, an’ you kin 
hyar de soun’ uv his hoofs echoin’ ter Goshum.’ 

“ My Bredren’, I know you all ain’ gwine be sat- 
isfied wid my preachin’ ter-night, fur I is sufferin’ 
wid de ho’seness uv my th’oat, kaze I done preached 
at Cedarhill las’ night, an’ night befo’ ; so you kin 
see, dat I is putty well wo’ out. Now, my Bredren 
an’ my Sistren, John, he was de great Revealer. 
Ef de Lord hadn’ said, ‘ John, seal up and don’t 
write no mo’,’ I am satisfied dat we’d er knowed de 
ve’y hour, yas, my Bredren, de ve’y minit, we wuz 
gwine ter die. 

‘‘ Now, de Lord, he mounted de horse wid de 
seven horns an’ rode thoo de streets uv hebben, an’ 
I see er th’one wid fo’ an’ twenty Elders er settin’ 


[ 86 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


roun’ an’ I hyar de beas’ hoofs echoin’ thoo de 
streets unter Goshum. 

“ Now, my Bredren, Gawd He made all de 
beas’es an’ things, an’ He put man on de ve’y top 
uv de ladder, an’ he wuz de mos’ disobedient uv 
’em all. He made man wid two hund’ed an’ eight 
bones an’ forty -th’ee element’ry sounds, an’ th’ee 
senses, an’ He completed man by makin’ him de 
third pusson in de Trin’ty. 

“ An’ es de beas’ rode on de white horse, wid de 
reins thow’d over his nake, an’ his hoofs echoin’ 
ter Goshum, he seen de two hund’ed an’ eight bones, 
an’ de forty-th’ee element’ry sounds, an’ de th’ee 
senses. 

“ My Bredren, hit would be onpossible fer us ter 
pictur’ in our min’s how dem ’Postles an’ saints uv 
de ole times suffered. 

“ Dem folkses what lived in dem times corned 
erlong one day, dey did, an’ went up ter ole Br’er 
Thomas wid er tommyhock in dar ban’s, an’ dey 
say, ‘ Ole Thomas, what def does you wan’ ter die ? ’ 
An’ Ole Thomas, he say, ‘ It don’ make no diff’- 
ence ter me how I dies. I jes’ as soon die by de 
tommyhock es any ’urr way ; ’ an’ my Bredren, dey 
tommyhocked Ole Thomas ter def an’ dey kilt him. 
Den dey comes up ter ole Br’er Peter an’ say, 
[ 86 ] 


«ER WHITE HORSE TURNT LOOSE” 


‘ What def does you wan’ ter die ? ’ an’ Ole Peter, 
he say, ‘ I don’ keer ; hit don’ make no diff ’ence ter 
me how I dies.’ An’ dey kilt Ole Peter. 

“ Den dey comes up ter John, de Revealer, an’ 
ast him, ‘ What def does you wan’ ter die ? ’ An’ 
Ole John say he wuz ready ter go when de Lord 
called him. 

“ An’ den, my Bredren, dem peoples tuk John, 
de great Revealer, an’ dey flung him into er pot uv 
bilin’ oil an’ eve’y time de great Revealer bob’d up 
an’ befo’ dey could push him back wid dey pitch- 
‘forks, he lif’ his voice up ter Hebben an’ say, 
‘ Lord, hit don’ make no diff’ence ter me how I 
dies.’ 

“ But dey couldn’ kill dat gre’t Revealer, kaze 
while dey wan’ lookin’. Ole John lipt out uv de pot 
an’ runned off ter Patty mos. 

“ Now, my Bredren an’ Sistren, when Ole John 
got ter Pattymos, he seen wile beas’es tearin’ up an’ 
down an’ all roun’ ’im an’ he lif’ up his voice ter de 
Lord ag’in an’ say, ‘ Lord, hit don’ make no diff’- 
ence ter me how I dies.’ 

“ An’ oh ! my fr’en’s, de Lord he hyard Ole 
John, an’ he sont down er charrit wid fo’ horses, 
an’ cotched him by de robes, an’ snatched him right 
up into Hebben. 


[ 87 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


“ But, my fr’en’s an’ hearers, de short time dat 
John de Revealer wuz in Patty mos, he seen his bes’ 
fr’en’ ole John Bunyam. 

“ Now de Revealer, he stopt fer ter see his fr’en’ 
John Bunyam, an’ dey set down on a log on de 
roadside an’ talked erbout dat widder what lived in 
de Bible. My Bredren an’ my Sistren, ’specially de 
Sistren, I wants ter pictur ter yo’ min’s dat ve’y 
widder. Her onlies’ son wuz gwine ter be hung, 
an’ she begged ’um not ter kill ’im; but dey pay 
no ’tention ter her, so she runned way ober ter de 
king, an’ she runned day an’ night twell she got 
dar. 

“ An’ when she got dar, she tole ’im all ’bout her 
son, an’ he give her er stone wid his name wrote on 
it. Den she thanked de King an’ hugged an’ kist 
his feets. 

“ An’ she runned all de way back, an’ she got 
ter de gallus an’ seen her son, jes’ two minits befo’ 
de time fer him ter die. 

“ An’ she say, ‘ Jes’ le’ me kiss my son an’ shuck 
his ban’s onct befo’ he dies.’ 

“ An’ she wouldn’ show de stone ter any uv ’um, 
fer she know’d dey would take it f’um her. 

“ An’ she got up on de gallus wid her son an’ 
she give him de stone wid de King’s name writ on 
[ 88 ] 


“ER WHITE HORSE TURNT LOOSE” 


it. An’ he holded up de stone, an’ say, ‘ I’se 
saved ! I’se saved ! ’ 

“ Now, my Bredren, has any uv you got dat 
stone in yo’ hearts, wid de King’s name writ on it? 
Ef you ain’, you’d better put it dar at onct. 

‘‘ Oh, Almighty Gawd ! We ast dee ef it is dy 
holy an’ ergranted will ter give us pure hearts fur 
Jesus’ sake, an’ lead us all back ter Jesus ef it is 
dy holy an’ ergranted will. An’ keep us all well 
ter do dy work ef it is dy holy an’ ergranted 
will.” 

(Loud groans and “ Amens ” came in volumes 
from the aged Brethren in the left-hand corner, 
and tremulous wails from the Sisters, and continued 
rocking and swaying of their bodies.) 

Brother Driver seemed to realize the deep im- 
pression which his words had made ; he. mopped his 
brow, cleared his throat, and renewed his efforts. 

“ O, my Bredren, I is glad ter see dat you all is 
wakin’ up, fur you didn’ seem ter hah no repre- 
hension uv de trouble uv sin. 

“ Hit is time fur ter wake ter de fac’s ’fo’ hit 
gits too late. 

“ Now, my Bredren, dar is th’ee steps leadin’ up 
ter Hebben : Faif , Hope, and Cha’ity. 

“ Faif goes wid you thoo dis life, an’ stops 

[ 89 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


wid you at de grave. Hope does de same, but 
Cha’ity goes ’long wid you into Hebben. 

“ I tell you ergin, Bredren, dar is th’ee steps er 
leadin’ into Hebben. 

“ Faif say, ‘ Enter in.’ Hope say, ‘ Enter in.’ 
But Cha’ity takes you by de han’ an’ leads you in. 

“ Now, Bredren, you knows I’s ’parin’ you fer 
de love-feas’ we is gwine ter hab ternight.” 

(At this point one of the brethren came in with a 
bag of soda crackers and a pitcher of water for the 
love-feast. ) 

“ You all puts er piece uv de braid in yo’ moufs, 
an’ takes er piece uv braid in yo’ ban’s, an’ den we 
all breaks it together at onct. But, my Bredren, 
I’m erf eared we ain’ gwine ter hab much uv er love- 
feas’ hyar ternight, fer I kin tell f’um yo’ ’pear- 
ance dat my sermon ain’ teched yo’ hearts in de 
right place. 

“ But I is done my bes’. 

“ Now, my Bredren, I wants ter tell you one mo’ 
thing, an’ dat is dis: Dar is th’ee things what is 
necessary fer er preacher ter have fer ter preach 
de gospel. Knowledge in de haid, de sperit in de 
heart, an’ money in de pocLet. 

“ Now, I is got de knowledge in de haid, an’ de 
sperit in de heart, but, Bredren, I ain’t got no 
[ 90 ] 


‘‘ER WHITE HORSE TURNT LOOSE” 


money in de pocket. I ain’ er preachin’ fer 
money; I is preachin’ kaze hit’s my callin’, but 
den, Bredren, I is ’bleeged ter have dem th’ee rer- 
quirements, an’ I only calls on you fer ter s’ply 
me wid one uv dem. 

“ I will now call fer de third rerquirement, an’ 
I hopes you will shell out de nickels an’ de dimes in 
Br’er Perry’s hat. Br’er Perry, will you please ter 
step erroun’ an’ take up dat rerquirement com- 
monly called de collectium. I specified de nickels 
an’ de dimes, but dar will be no rejection uv two- 
bits, nurr free-bits, nurr fo’-bits — ef anybody is er 
mine ter gib ’um.” 


[ 91 ] 








Mammy Joe Tells of the 
Sinking of the Merrimac 


Mammy Joe Tells of the 
Sinking of the Merrimac 

A COUNTRY village in the South is espe- 
cially peaceful and quiet, except perhaps 
on Saturdays and court days, when the 
negroes come to town from miles around to buy 
and sell and to attend court. The picture of 
Main Street, Greensboro, Alabama, on those days 
is a sight for the unbelievers; one could hardly 
imagine that so many mules, wagons, ox-carts, peo- 
ple, watermelons, and watermelon rinds could be 
gotten into so small a space. The road, the side- 
walks, the side streets, and the stores are literally 
jammed. 

On one occasion a crowd was assembled the like 
of which was never equalled in our quiet little city. 
It was the 5th of June, 1898 ; the odor of roses and 
honeysuckle hung heavily upon the warm summer 
air; the peaceful stillness was only broken by the 
carolling of mocking-birds among the shade trees 
and shrubbery. Mammy Joe was on one of her 
occasional visits to “ Miss Ma’y.” 

Her arrival from the old home was always a 
great event, and no queen ever received a warmer 
[95] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


welcome than was accorded our faithful old nurse 
whenever she came. She had heard that “ Miss 
Marfy,” Miss Mary’s sister, had arrived from 
“ Noo York,” so the ox-cart was hitched up and 
Isum and Jake had forthwith brought her to town. 

“ Lawd, honey,” she exclaimed, as we helped her 
into the house ; “ you might er knowed 3^ou is one 
uv my fav’rites or you wouldn’ see me takin’ dis 
long ride ter town in dat ole rickety ox-cart. Bless 
de Lawd ! how glad I is ter see you all ergin ! Hit’s 
good fer de sore eyes ! But, chile, you ain’ lookin’ 
ve’y well; I feered you don’ git de right things ter 
eat in Noo York. I hyar tell dey don’ even know 
what beat biskits is up dar; an’ I know dey don’, 
kase I never seed none when me an’ Mistis (yo’ 
Gran’mar), usen ter go dar befo’ de war; nuffin’ 
’tall but des light-braid an’ rolls — not even er sign 
uv aig-braid; an’ ef peoples don’ hab good braid, 
dey don’ hab nuffin’ good. 

“ But, chillun,” she continued, after making her 
expressions of happiness to each and all of us, 
“ has you all hyard de news uptown ” 

No news had been heard by the family up to that 
time ; it was then about eleven o’clock in the morn- 
ing. 

“ Why, chillun ! ” she exclaimed in astonishment 

[ 96 ] 


SINKING OF THE MERRIMAC 

at our having heard nothing unusual. “ Why, 
chillun, hit’s des lak Chris’mus uptown ; de 
gent’muns is all stan’in’ tergedder on de cor- 
ners, an’ I hyard ’um hoorayin’ an’ goin’ on at sich 
er rate, hit mos’ skeered me. I seed Unc’ Billy 
cornin’ ’long, an’ I called ter him an’ axed him what 
on de yearth wuz de matter. 

“ ‘ Why, Aunt Joe,’ he say, ‘ ain’ you hyard de 
news ? ’ 

“ ‘ No, sir,’ I say. ‘ What news.^ I is des’ driv’ 
up f’um de country, an’ I ain’ hyard er thing 
’ceptin’ dat my chile done come home f’um Noo 
York.’ Wid dat, I thought Unc’ Billy would bus’ 
open. 

“ ‘ Why, good gracious,’ he say. ‘ Does you see 
dem big crowds uv people up yander an’ all dem 
nigh de Pos’ OfFus.?^ Well, Aunt Joe, dat’s whar 
de bullion-boa’d stan’s, an’ de news on dat bullion- 
boa’d done say how dat Marse Rich Hobson is done 
sunk de ship f’um under his feets, an’ done walked 
on de water lak ’Postle Peter. Yassum, dat’s de 
fac’. Aunt Joe.’ An’ chillun, Unc’ Billy say dat 
Marse Rich walked on de water right over dem 
dinermite shells, right thoo’ de bullits what was 
shootin’ at him on de right side an’ on de lef’ side 
an’ behine him an’ in front uv him, an’ dat Marse 

[ 97 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


Rich didn’ pay no mo’ ’tention ter ’um den ef dey 
was flies an’ muskeeters. He des breshed dem can- 
non-balls off wid his ban’s an’ walked right up ter 
de mouf uv dat gre’t Spannium, an’ ram his fis’ 
down dat Spannium’s th’oat an’ done choke him ter 
def . Yassum, dat he did ! Unc’ Billy say, ‘ Aunt 
Joe, dat’s what I makes out f’um what I hyars ’um 
say, an’ I’se gwine des as fas’ as I kin ter tell Miss 
Sally. I ain’ s’prised er bit at Marse Rich,’ he say, 
‘ fer I knowed he was de braves’ solger in de war,’ 
he say, ‘ an’ boun’ ter kill dat Spannium dey been 
tryin’ ter choke up. All dat s’prises me,’ he say, 
‘ is his workin’ uv dat merricle. I done watched 
dat chile,’ he say, ‘ when he wa’n’ no higher dan my 
knee, an’ I always tuck noticement dat whenever de 
boys played fox-an’-houn’s in de grove, Marse 
Rich wuz always de fox. An’ he heads ’um ter dis 
day, an’ dey ain’ never is gwine ketch him nurr. 
But Aunt Joe,’ he say, ‘ who’d s’posed dat dat chile 
was gwine work er merricle an’ walk on de water lak 
’Postle Peter, sinkin’ de ship f’um under his own 
feets an’ not git kilt.?^ I jes looks fer Marse Rich 
ter be translated, an’ ’spects de nex’ thing we hyar, 
de char rot will have tuck him up inter hebben.’ ” 
But the news had reached “ Miss Sally ” long 
before Uncle Billy did. Telegrams were flying all 
[ 98 ] 


SINKING OF THE MERRIMAC 


over the town before we had time to recover from 
the remarkable account made out from the “ bul- 
lion-boa’d ” by Uncle Billy, as related by Mammy 
Joe. 

It did look like Christmas uptown sure enough, 
for the little city took on a holiday appearance. 
Among the rose vines over “ Rose-Mary ” cottage 
the first flags were hung. What did it matter that 
they bore the Southern cross of the Confederacy.^ 
They were flags — they meant life, country, hero- 
ism, and honor, and they were unfurled, for they 
were all that we had, and we were fain to honor the 
hero of our home. When the evening train came in 
from Selma, however, the Stars and Stripes, which 
had been telegraphed for, were unfurled by the side 
of the mementoes of the Lost Cause. The flag of 
the nation took on a new meaning, and for the first 
time since the war, the “ Stars and Stripes ” floated 
peacefully over many proud mansions and devas- 
tated Southern homes. 


[ 99 ] 










Mammy Tilly’s Visit to 

the City 


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Mammy Tilly’s Visit to 
the City 

“ ASSUM, all my white folks is moved 

j erway — gone ter town ter be near de 

schools, so dey say — no money fer ter 
hab gub’nors an’ teachers lak dey usen ter hab. 
Eve’ything so changed, you know. 

“ Yassum, de chillun tries ter he’p me all dey 
kin, an’ dey pays my rent fer me now, an’ dey 
wanted me ter go live in town, but I des can’ leave 
de ole place. Seem lak hit suits me bes’, an’ den de 
good book say dat ‘ man mus’ yearn his braid by 
de swift uv his eye-brows.’ I des stays hyar an’ 
makes my ’tater patch an’ gits erlong de bes’ I kin 
wid what dey does fer me. 

“ Sometimes I goes ter Greensboro, ter see Miss 
Ma’y, but I never is gwine ter de city uv Bum- 
mingham ergin es long es I live. Hit’s too unruly 
er place. Hit’s wus’ dan Noo York, honey. I 
never did see cyars runnin’ ’long widout horses 
hitched ter ’um, an’ spittin’ fire when me an’ Mistis 
usen ter go ter Noo York, an’ I never seed none in 
Washin’ton City nurr; but Bummingham, chile, is 
in de ban’s uv de debble, sho’ es you’s born. I hope 
[ 103 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


Miss Sadie will come back home some day an’ leave 
dat place. Dey tells me dat Noo York done got de 
same way sence de war, but I ain’ been dar, an’ so I 
don’ know, but de whole worl’ seem upside down 
sence de war. Yassum, dat it do. 

“ Yassum, dey wanted ter take ole Mammy Tilly 
erlong, but I couldn’ leave de ole place nohow. I 
went up dar fer er time on er visit, but de ’citement 
uv de city wuz too much fer my rheumatiz. Sech 
a time es we had ! Chile, I lak ter have died befo’ 
I got back home. 

“ Miss Sadie got er ve’y nice house in Bumming-, 
ham, but it ain’ lak de mansion over dar in de grove 
where she usen ter live lak er queen. Hit’s too 
close ter de neighbors, heap wors’ dan Greensboro. 
I lak plenty uv room, honey ; I’se been usen ter it 
all my life, an’ it sutny did make me mad ter see de 
servants in de nex’ house lookin’ right square in our 
back do’, an’ watchin’ eve’y thing what we doin’ in 
our house. Den ergin, you kin hyar eve'y word 
dey say, arC smell everything dey cooh, an' see 
everything goinr on. No’m, I don’ lak no city. 
Dar is too many myster’us things in er city. Miss 
Marfy. Cyars runnin’ ’long, doubten horses 
hitched ter ’um an’ spittin’ fire f’um top ter bot- 
tom, an’ notes an’ letters on telefomes flyin’ roun’ 
[ 104 ] 




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MAMMY TILLY’S VISIT TO THE CITY 

doubt en no nigger ter carry ’um ter de ladies, an’ 
de boys cornin’ home at night an’ openin’ de front 
do’ wid er key no bigger dan de blade uv er pen- 
knife, an’ nobody hyar ’um. Dem keys is mys- 
ter’ous, chile, an’ sometimes dey makes mischief an’ 
trouble. One night, Marse Tommie, Miss Sadie’s 
younges’ boy, who wuz home Turn school, went out 
ter er dance, or somethin’, an’ when he come home 
he fotch er young gent’mun fr’en’ wid him, unbe- 
knownst ter us all. Well, dey come in wid dat Icey, 
an’ nobody hyard ’um. Marse Tommie, he went 
right ter baid, but de young gent’mun what wuz 
wid him, say he gwine hab er smoke fus’, an’ so he 
light de cigar an’ res’ his feets on de mantlepiece, 
leans back in er big tall cheer an’ starts ter read de 
paper. Well, Miss Sadie, she wake up an’ disre- 
membered dat she done fergit ter lock de back hall 
do’, so ’stead uv callin’ me, what wuz sleepin’ in 
de nus’ry, she waked up Miss Helen an’ axed her 
ter go downstairs an’ lock de hall do’. Well, 
Miss Helen, she tuck de candle an’ started down. 
When she gits ter de bottom uv de steps, she sees 
a bright light in Marse Tommie’s room, an’ she 
peeps in, an’ bless Gawd ! when she seed er strange 
young man settin’ in dar an’ de lights all up, she 
runs back upstairs, skeered mos’ ter def, an’ tol’ 
[ 105 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


) 

her Ma dat de whole house was filled up wid 
bu’glars. Den Miss Sadie called rne ter wake up, 
an’ we locked an’ barred de room do’, an’ den we 
raise de winder an’ call ter de nex’ do’ neighbor. 
Hit wuz de fus’ time I ever feel reconcile ter de 
closeness uv de neighbors. Miss Williams she riz 
up her winder an’ want ter know what de matter. 

‘ Our whole house is full uv bu’glers,’ Miss Sadie 
tell her, an’ she ax her ter please sen’ Mr. Williams 
over fer ter he’p us. But Miss Williams say dat she 
couldn’; dat she feared Mr. Williams would git 
kilt — dat she wouldn’ wake him up fer de worl’. 
Well, honey, dar we wuz ! An’ ef it hadn’ been fer 
de telefome. Gawd knows what would er ’come uv 
us. 

“ Miss Williams she say she had er telefome, so 
she call up de perlice departmen’, an’ de nex’ minit 
mos’ er hunderd perlicemens hit seem lak come rid- 
in’ up wid dr a wed pistils in dey ban’s. Dey come 
in de back hall do’ lak Miss Williams tole ’um, an’ 
drawed up in line befo’ Marse Tommie’s do’. Well, 
de young gent’mun, when he hyard de fuss an’ seed 
all dem revolvers p’inted at him, he jumped up an’ 
dashed outen de winder, breakin’ it all ter pieces, 
wid all de perlicemens right behine him. Dat woke 
Marse Tommie up ; an’ when he seed de buttons an’ 
[ 106 ] 


MAMMY TILLY’S VISIT TO THE CITY 


de guns, he run ter de winder an’ hollered ‘ Fire ’ 
des as loud as he c’d holler. De perlicemens what 
wuz outside, tumt on de fire-’larm, an’ ’fo’ dey git 
thoo’ chasin’ de young gent’mun back in de house, 
whar dey kotch ’im an’ tie his ban’s, de whole fire 
bergade done turnt out, an’ de nex’ thing we 
knowed, de water was po’in’ down de chimley an’ 
thoo de winders, an’ sich er time you never see sence 
you wuz born. Ef Miss Sadie hadn’ reco’nize 
Marse Tommie holl’in’ an’ fightin’ ter be turnt 
loose, dem perlicemens w’d er han’cuflP’ an’ ca’ied 
him off ter de jail. Es it wuz, dey done him bad 
ernough. An’ when we foun’ out dat dey wan’ no 
bu’glers, ’cep’in’ des Marse Tom an’ his fr’en’, we 
sutny wuz mystyfied. An’ hit wuz all de fault uv 
dem night-keys, honey. Dey ain’ half so ’spect- 
able as hit wuz when ole Marster er de boys w’d 
come home wid de clattin’ uv horse-hoofs thoo’ de 
grove an’ de big soundin’ step on de gall’ry an’ 
Unc’ Billy an’ Unc’ Sy ter unsaddle de horses, an’ 
Jerrymiah dar fer ter put ’um ter bed. Dem keys 
is lots uv trouble. I wuz so shuck up over de ’cite- 
ment I mos’ died, an’ de nex^ time I des come home ! 
Yassum, dat I did. 

“ Dat wuz de time when Marse Tommie had 
ernurr fr’en’ wid him. You see, Marse Tommie’s 
[ 107 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


room wuz on de parlor flo’, an’ one day ole Miss 
Ma’y Jane Wilkins, f’um up de country near 
Cracker-Nake, come ter stay all night. Well, she 
so ole dat Miss Sadie tole Marse Tommie fer ter 
sleep upstairs in de comp’ny room an’ let Miss 
Ma’y Jane sleep down in his room ter keep her f’um 
goin’ up de long steps. Well, chile, I fixed de 
room ready fer de exchange, an’ Marse Tommie he 
went ter baid on time, but de young gent’mun he 
went callin’. Miss Sadie say she gwine set up an’ 
wait fer ’im an’ sen’ ’im upstairs, es he didn’ know 
erbout comp’ny bein’ in Marse Tom’s room. But 
dat key, chile, wuz so slick, he come in widout Miss 
Sadie hyarin’ ’im, an’ he opens de do’ an’ started 
ter baid. 

“ He couldn’ fine er match nowhar, so he starts 
ter ondress in de dark, an’ de fus’ thing he done 
wuz ter kick one uv his boots off, honey, an’ sling 
it at de baid, thinkin’ Marse Tom in dar. Ole Miss 
Wilkins she call out, ‘ Who dat in hyar.? ’ De 
young gent’mun didn’ say nuffin’, thinkin’ hit was 
Marse Tom try in’ ter play a joke on ’im, makin’ 
b’lieve he was a ’ooman. ‘ Who dat in hyar? ’ she 
call out ergin. De young gent’mun he make er 
fuss wid his mouf, jes’ so — ‘ coop, coop, coop.’ 
‘ Who dat, I say ? ’ ‘ M-m-m-m-m,’ say he, an’ den 
[ 108 ] 


MAMMY TILLY’S VISIT TO THE CITY 


he sail de yuther boot erlong over de baid. Well, 
chile, Miss Ma’y Jane was mos’ skeered ter def by 
dat time, an’ de way she hollered an’ de yell she done 
give would er raised de daid ! Hit sutny did raise 
Marse Tommie’s fr’en’. He jumped outen dat 
room in his night clo’es, an’ met Miss Sadie an’ de 
young ladies, an’ Marse Tommie an’ we-aU cornin’ 
down de stairs wid lamps an’ sticks ter see what de 
matter wid po’ ole Miss Ma’y Jane Wilkins. Dat 
wuz emufF fer me. I tole Miss Sadie I des’ couldn’ 
stan’ de ’citement uv town no ways, an’ so I come 
’long home. Marse Tommie he fotched me all de 
way to de station, an’ when he lef’ me, he say, 
‘ Mammy Tilly, I’ll tho’ ’way dat latch-key ef 
you’ll des go back wid me ter town.’ But I couldn’ 
stan’ de ’citement, so I des lives on de ole place in 
hopes dat de summons will come some day an’ ca’y 
me home ter ole Mistis what’s waitin’ fer me in de 
kingdom.” 


[ 109 ] 








^ 7 ^ 




Aunt Roxy-Ann an’ de 
Apple-Tree 






i't 



Aunt Roxy-Ann an’ de 
Apple-Tree 

D e apple-tree, honey, is er merikle uv 
merikles. Hit’s er tree you better not 
fool wid. Hit’s been er gittin’ people in 
trouble eber sence Adam steal dat fus’ fruit fer 
Eve. One day at chu’ch, when de stracted meetin’ 
wuz gwine on, I axed Br’er Proffit Christian whut 
wuz de truble ’bout dem apples, anyway. 

I axed him what wuz de reason de Lawd didn’ 
wan’ Eve ter eat ’um. An’ Br’er Proffit he say de 
reason dat de Lawd didn’ wan’ Eve fer ter eat ’um 
wuz kaze He wanted ’um fer His se’f, he say, an’ ef 
he didn’ want ’um fer His se’f He wanted ’um for 
somebody else, he say. But himesoever hit wuz, he 
say, de apple-tree is er tree ter be ’voided. In dem 
days I wuz des grow’d up, an’ honey, I wuz mighty 
fon’ uv fixin’ up wid fine close an’ outdoin’ de 
yuther gals an’ er carryin’ my haid high. I didn’ 
hab nuffin’ ter do but nuss Miss Lou’s baby, an’ Miss 
Lou wuz mighty good ’bout givin’ me her cas’-off 
hats an’ things. One day she give me er fine raid 
velvet hat, an’ de chillen had done gib me some yal- 
[ 113 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


ler paper flowers, an’ I flxed it up flne fer ter w’ar 
ter de big fun’l on Sunday. You see, Aun’ Neu- 
phelia Jones had des died, an’ Miss Lou sed I might 
go to de fun’l. I sho’ wuz proud dat Sunday morn- 
in’ when I git myse’f ready ter foller de persession 
to the grabe. I had on all my bes’ close, an’ I felt 
as free as er jay bird in de cornfiel’. 

De fun’l was de bigges’ I ever seed, an’ Unc’ 
Proflit Christian he preached de summon. 

De ve’y nex’ day atter de bury in’, Unc’ Silvester 
Jones, de husban’ uv de corpse, corned to my mam- 
my’s cabin fer ter call. Mammy she wuz down ter 
de spring doin’ de Monday washin’, an’ dar wan’ 
nobody dar but me an’ Miss Lou’s baby what I 
wuz nursin’. Well, chile, berfo’ Unc’ Silvester lef’ 
he done axed me ter mar’y him. When my mammy 
cumed in Unc’ ’Vester said ter her, “ Sis’ Malaria 
Ann,” he say (yassum, dat wuz my mammy’s 
name. Malaria Ann Johnsing). “ Sis’ Malaria 
Ann,” he say, “ I is done axed Miss Roxy Ann fer 
ter jine ban’s wid me dis day two weeks.” 

‘‘ Bless Gord,” say mammy, “ you is in er mighty 
big hurry, Br’er ’Vester. Why, Sis’ Neuphelia ain’ 
hardly cole in de grabe.” 

“ Well, I knows dat. Sis’ Malaria,” he ses, “ but 
Neuphelia is des es daid es she eber is gwine ter be, 
[ 114 ] 


AUNT ROXY-ANN 


an’ den ergin, de preacher he sed at de fun’l dat dis 
life wuz short an’ oncertain, an’ I know’d I didn’ 
hab no time ter lose. An’ den ergin you see de 
ole sisters at de chu’ch will be er layin’ out plans 
fer me ef I don’ lay out plans fer myse’f an’ 
git er haid uv ’um, an’ when I seed Miss Roxy 
Ann at de grabe yistidy, lookin’ lak er com blossom 
wid de tassels all ’er silkin’, I des made my mine up 
right den an’ dar fer ter ax her ter take de place uv 
de deceased corpse. Why, Sis’ Malaria,” he say, 
‘‘ Miss Roxy Ann wuz de ve’y light uv de fun’l. I 
don’ b’lieve I could er stood it if I hadn’ seed her 
standin’ dar, de one bright light in de darkness uv 
my trouble.” 

Well, honey, mammy and Unc’ ’Ves’ fixed it up, 
an’ Miss Lou said she’d give me some mo’ things, 
an’ dey got me all ready fer de weddin’, what tuck 
place de nex’ Sunday week. All de yother gals 
wuz dat env’ous uv me dey couldn’ see straight, 
an’ I wuz so happy I des la’f all de time. Miss Lou 
an’ Marse Jack give us er cabin all to wese’f, an’ I 
seem so joyful an’ full uv de pleasures uv de worl’ 
I ’gun ter git skeerd dat I never would be able ter 
feel sorrowful erauff ter git ’ligion an’ jine de 
chu’ch. 

So one day I made my mine up ter ax de Lawd 

[ 116 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


ter sen’ trouble ter keep me fum gittin’ too famil- 
ious wid de debbil. You see, I had de fines’ close 
uv any gal in de congergation, an’ no wuck ter do 
but nuss de baby an’ cook fer ’Ves. I know’d I 
wuz too free fer er Christian. So I went down in 
de bottom uv de garden, whar’ no one could see me, 
’cep’n de Lawd, an’ I git down on my knees under 
de big apple-tree an’ ’gun ter pray. Ef I des 
hadn’ gone ter de apple-tree, honey, it would er 
bin all right, but hit looked mo’ ter my fancy dan 
de peach-tree, an’ so I prayed ter de Hebbenly 
Father fer ter sen’ me er trial uv my strenf. 
“ Lawd,” I ses, I is er miser’ble sinner, an’ too 
unfit fer Your kin’ness ter me. I is too happy, 
Lawd,” I ses, “ an’ I wants You to please. Sir, sen’ 
me er trial ter fetch me th’o. Sen’ me trouble 
Lawd,” I cried, “ sen’ me trouble ! Tromp on me, 
beat me all ter pieces, an’ mash me on de groun’, 
Lawd, fer I wants ter prove my love ter Dee.” 
Well, honey, de Lawd did hyar me fum under dat 
apple-tree, an’ He sont me all de trouble I axed 
fer, an’ He tromp on me, too. 

But, chile, I didn’t know dat He wuz gwine ter 
cum down on me wid bofe feets. No’m, I didn’ 
spec’ dat. But He did, yas, honey, dat He did. 
You see, I wuz under de tree uv ferbidden fruit, an’ 
[ 116 ] 



“Den my mammy died, an all I had lef’ wiiz my lid gal” 






AUNT ROXY-ANN 

He made has’ fer ter punish me fer de joyments 
uv life. 

Hit wan’ no time fum de day I prayed under dat 
apple-tree dat ’Vester ’gun ter take up wid Penny 
Wilson an’ my li’l gal wan’ no mo dan two year ole 
when he done lef’ me fer to lib wid ’er. Den my 
mammy died, an’ all I had lef’ wuz my li’l gal. I 
named her Neuphelia Malaria Roxy- Ann, fer ’Ves- 
ter’s fus’ wife, an’ my mammy an’ myse’f. But she 
died, too, an’ den I know’d dat dat apple-tree wuz 
de wrong tree fer ter pray under. I done cut dat 
tree down, honey — I cut it in de night, so nobody 
would know who done it, an’ when I prays I ’voids 
de garden all I kin, an’ don’ go under no tree wid 
fruit on it. I des goes in de bushes an’ de grass. 
Yassum, de Lawd sho’ did come down on me hard, 
an’ wid bofe feets, lak I say. 

But it fotched me ter de th’one uv grace. 

I don’ wear no mo’ raid velvet hats wid yaller 
paper flowers, an’ I ain’t gwine ter be de bride uv 
no mo’ grooms uv er corpse. 


[ 117 ] 



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How Sis’ Mandy (an’ Her 
Dog Pinchey) Got ’ligion 



AW, yas, chile, to be sho’ I does b’lieve 
dat dogs is got souls, to be sho’ I does. 


^ I never had no usen fer dogs twell I 
owned old Pinchey, an’ dat dog, honey, is er pus- 
son, ef sense counts fer anything wid de Lawd. 
An’ den ergin, dat dog is er heap better dan some 
pussons I knows, I kin tell you. 

De way I cum ter own Pinchey wuz dis : 

You see de times is mighty hard down hyar in 
Alabama, whar de cotton don’ fetch but five cents 
er poun’, an’ I is had er mighty hard time er gittin’ 
erlong. Sometimes I kin pay de rent, an’ some- 
times I can’t, an’ sometimes I has braid in de ashes, 
an’ sometimes I ain’t. 

Well, one day I was des gittin’ over er spell uv 
de chills, an’ er feelin’ putty miserable an’ no- 
’count, an’ I riz outer de baid an’ cum to de do’ an’ 
set down on de steps, an’ ’gun ter steddy ’bout how 
I gwine git som’n ter eat, kaze it ain’ like it usen to 
be befo’ de wah. Ike he wuz erway pickin’ cotton 
on de yuther side uv de creek, an’ I wuz all erlone 
by myse’f, an’ nobody fer ter he’p me. 


[ 121 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


I set dar sted’n ’bout what to do, an’ de fus’ thing 
I know I seed dat ve’y dog you is lookin’ at stan’in’ 
right befo’ me, lookin’ at me. He looked at me, 
an’ I looked at him, an’ pres’n’ly I say to ’im: 
“ What you want hyar, dog, I ain’ got nuffin fur 
you; you better go long to dem what you ber- 
longs ter.” Wid dat he ’gun ter wag his li’l ole 
bob tail an’ walk up closer ter me, an’ I seed 
he wuz raw honied an’ hongry lookin’ lak he didn’ 
b’long ter nobody. “ Whar you cum fum, dog.? ” 
I say ergin, des ter be er talkin’, an’, honey, ef dat 
dog didn’ turn roun’ an’ look to’ds de crossroads, 
I ain’t er settin’ hyar. 

I know’d right den dat he done been tumt erway 
by de po’ niggers at de settlemint. Well, I ses out 
loud ergin as I set dar, “ Well, dog,” I ses, 
“ you an’ me is in de same fix. You is done been 
driv off an’ Ike, my ole man, he’s done gone off an’ 
lef’ me, pertendin’ ter be pickin’ cotton over de 
creek. I knows who he’s wid over dar, I ses — an’ 
he knows better dan ter cum back hyar wid his 
backslidin’ ways. I wan’ no Christian, honey, an’ 
de chu’ch members didn’t come ter look after me, 
kaze I wuz er dancer, an’ hadn’t come th’o.” Well, 
chile, when I sed dat, dat dog looked up de road 
de ve’y way dat Ike would er cum, an’ he wag his 
[ 122 ] 


HOW SIS’ MANDY GOT ’LIGION 

li’l stump tail ergin an’ git closer ter me dan 
ever. 

Somehow I couldn’t he’p talkin’ ter dat dog, he 
look so knowin’, an’ he look so lonesome, des lak I 
wuz, an’ I know’d he wuz bofe hongry an’ not er 
bite did I have in de house fer ter eat. Hit ’gun 
ter git dark, an’ so I went ter de spring an’ fetched 
er bucket er fresh water, an’ I picked up er few 
sticks fer ter make up er blaze fer ter see by. 
When I raked up de ashes an’ blowed up de coles, 
I turned roun’ an’ I ses to de ole dog what wuz still 
watchin’ uv me : “ Ef you could go an’ ketch er 
rabbit,” I ses, “ or er squir’l, or sum’n,” I ses, 
“ you an’ me mout hab er supper,” I ses. Chile, 
dat dog what you is lookin’ at right now, what I 
calls Pinchey, he turns right erroun’ an’ walked 
out uv my do’, lak er pusson, an’ when he cum back 
he had er rabbit in his mouf, what he had done 
kotch. Yassum! I so ’stounded I fell right down 
flat on de flo’. But hit wan’ many minnits ’fo’ I 
wuz eatin’ dat rabbit, an’ Pinchey wuz eatin’ uv de 
bones. Fum dat day me an’ Pinchey is lived to- 
ge’r, an’ dat dog knows ev’y word I ses ter ’im. 
I calls ’im Pinchey, kaze we wuz bofe in sech er 
pinch when he cum ter me. No’m ! Ike never did 
cum back, an’ ef it hadn’t been fer ole Pinchey, 
[ 123 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


I’d er starve’ ter def ’fo’ now. Dat dog goes 
huntin’ ev’y day uv his life. When possum sea- 
son come ole Pinchey fetches possums in reg’lar, 
an’ when rabbit season come he fetches in de rabbits 
an’ de squir’ls an’ de birds, an’ sometimes dat dog 
fetches er chicken an’ er piece uv meat somebody 
done give ’im roun’ de settlemint somewhar. One 
day Br’er Rastus, de preacher, cum erlong, an’ 
he ax me ef I wan’ gwine jine de chu’ch; dat de 
camp meetin’ wuz gwine on at de Flatwoods 
Chu’ch, an’ he wuz hopin’ I would come roun’ an’ 
perfess. Dat set me ter stedin’ ’bout my sins, an’ 
erbout jedgmint day some folks sed wuz not fur 
off, an’ so I ’gun ter seek. I tried ter pray, an’ I 
couldn’t. I went down in de woods an’ I called on 
de Lawd, an’ He wouldn’ hyar me. 

One day I sey ter Pinch — ^yas, chile, I talk ter 
Pinch all de time, des de same as ef he wuz Ike — 
“ Pinch,” I say, ef I des could git ’ligion, an’ 
cum th’o, I wouldn’ be skeered uv de debble no 
mo’.” Pinch looked at me, but he didn’ say nuffin’, 
an’ de nex’ day dat dog never come back fum de 
woods. Fo’ days went by an’ Pinchey never come ; 
all dat time I wuz still er seekin’, too, dough I 
didn’t know it. On de fourf day, I recollec’ I wuz 
fixin’ fer ter make some ley-homly. I had done 

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HOW SIS’ MANDY GOT ’LIGION 

put de pot on ter bile wid de corn an’ ashes, an’ wuz 
er stan’in’ by it wid my long fire stick, stirrin’ it 
up. I stir erway, an’ I stir erway all de time 
stedin’ ’bout my sins, an’ ’bout de way Ike done 
treat me, an’ bymeby, while I wuz stan’in’ dar, 
Pinchey cum in fro’ de do’ an’ laid down on de ha’f 
an’ watched me. Presen’ly all uv er suddent, I 
gun ter feel de sperit uv peace move in my heart, 
an’ I hyard som’n speakin’ ter me fro’ de chimly. 
Hit sey, “ Sis’ Mandy, don’ grieve no mo’, rerpent 
fum yo’ sins an’ come th’o.” Den I ’gun ter feel 
happy, an’ de nex’ minnit I feel myse’f bendin’ dis 
way an’ dat way wid ’motion. Den I ’gun ter 
shout, chile, twell de ve’y flo’ seem ter be er shoutin’ 
wid me. All dat time Pinchey set dar lookin’ at 
me an’ whinin’, but bymeby, dat dog couldn’t re- 
sis’ de sperit what wuz on us, an’ ’fo’ de Lawd ef 
he didn’ git up off de ha’f an’ ’gin ter shout right 
wid me. De mo’ I shout, de mo’ he shout, twell we 
bofe git wo’ out fer de want uv strenf ter shout 
wid. Dat night, honey, I went ter meetin’ fer de 
fus’ time since Ike lef’ me. I went right up ter de 
moaners’ bench, me an’ Pinchey, an’ when Br’er 
Rastus, de preacher, corned down fum de flat-form 
fer ter hyar my spe’ance, I tole ’im ’bout Pinchey, 
an’ how me an’ Pinchey done bofe come th’o tog’er. 
[ 125 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


No, chile, I ain’ no Mef’dis, I is er Baptis’ ter my 
skin, an’ when Br’er Rastus ’mersed me in de creek, 
I ses ter ’im dat I want ’im ter baptize Pinchey 
’long wid me. He say, “ Sis’ Mandy,” he say, “ I 
kyarn’ take de ’sponsibility uv baptizin’ dat dog. 
I ain’ doubtin’ but dat he is rightly come th’o, but 
den I ain’ never is baptized no dogs, an’ I don’ lak 
ter bergin now.” 

“ Br’er Rastus,” I say, “ ef you don’ baptize my 
dog wid me, you will hab er wuss ’sponsibility rest- 
in’ on yo’ soul dan I would lak ter hab restin’ on 
mine,” I say. 

Well, honey, dat dog hyard ev’y word I sed, an’ 
he know’d des what ter do, fer de Sunday dat I 
went in de creek I felt som’n pull me des as I come 
up fum under de water, an’ ’fo’ de Lawd dar wuz 
Pinchey done baptize hisse’f right erlong wid me. 
Yassum, hit’s des lak I tell you. Dat dog got sense 
lak er pusson, an’ me an’ Pinch is bofe Christians, 
an’ we bofe ’spec’ ter live ergin when we dies. 


[ 126 ] 






Mammy’s Receipt for Mak- 
ing Alabama Velvets 



Mammy’s Receipt for Mak- 
ing Alabama Velvets 

L AWD, chile ! you ax me how ter make 
Dat li’l velvet batter cake. 

Why, Honey, hit’s er magic art. 

What comes right f’um yo’ Mammy’s heart. 

You takes er loaf uv braid dat’s stalef 
An’ den de velvets cannot fail; 

You puts it in er pau’clin pan 
An’ covers wid hot milk at han’. 

You mus’ not use no stuff ter rize. 

No powder what you puts in pize ; 

Des take two aigs an’ beat ’um well. 

An’ when de braid begins ter swell 

You peels de crus’ what’s brown an’ hard, 

An’ adds er pinch uv flakey lard. 

Or butter, what I mos’ly use. 

An’ salt, ter give er tas’e, infuse. 

Den put into de batter dough 
A li’l flour, white es snow ; 

[ 129 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


Den take yo’ spoon an’ heat an’ heat 
For dat’s what makes ’um good ter eat. 

Now, when de dough gits sof’ es cream, 
So smoove an’ velvety hit seem, 

You puts it in er li’l cake 
Right on de fryin’ pan ter bake. 

Hit only takes er minit’s time 
Ter make ’um crisp an’ brown an’ fine; 
An’ eve’y mouf what lubs ter eat 
Gwine smack fer joy ; dey tas’e so sweet. 

Ain’ nuffin’ on dis yearth so gran’ 

As Alabama velvets; an’ 

Jes’ you tas’e ’um, den you’ll know 
Ole Mammy said, she toV you so. 

Now, wid dese ’greegints, I mus’ tell 
You how ter work de magic spell, 

Fer ef ter have de right success 
An’ make ’um lak ole Mammy’s bes’ 

You sho’ mus’ know de conger art 
What Mammy keeps right in her heart — 
Hit’s f’um de blessed scripter book — 

“ She lubs ter eat — she luhs ter cooik,^^ 
[ 130 ] 




23 ^ 


Go ter Sleep bn Mammy’s 

Bre’s’ 


I 


Go TO Sleep on Mammy’s Bres’. 


(A Plantation Cradle Song.) 


on’.s and Music by Martha S, Gieluw. 
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Copyright, 1902, by Martha S. Gielow. 



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Go to sleep. 4—4. 




Go ter Sleep on Mammy’s 
Bre’s’ 

W HEN de pine trees ’gin sighin’ 

Ter de daylight what’s dyin’, 
Mammy’s baby ’gins cryin’ 

Fer ter rock on Mammy’s bre’s’. 

Chorus, 

Go ter sleep, li’l ba-by, 

Go ter sleep, li’l ba-by. 

Go ter sleep on Mammy’s bre’s’. 

When de moonlight ’gins shinin’ 

On de hearts what is pinin’. 

Mammy’s ba-by ’gins whinin’ 

Fer ter rock on Mammy’s bre’s’. 

Chorus, 

Go ter sleep, li’l ba-by, 

Go ter sleep, li’l ba-by, 

Go ter sleep on Mammy’s bre’s’. 

When de shadders ’gin tailin’ 

An’ de jew-draps ’gin failin’. 

Den de Angels ’gin callin’ 

Ter de lam’ on Mammy’s bre’s’. 

[ 133 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 
Chorus. 

Go ter sleep, li’l ba-by, 

Go ter sleep, li’l ba-by. 

Go ter sleep on Mammy’s bre’s’. 

’Tis de Hebben-light what’s seemin’ 
In de smile what is beamin’ 

On de babe dat’s now dreamin’. 

Fas’ er sleep on Mammy’s bre’s’. 

Chorus. 

Go ter sleep, li’l ba-by, 

Go ter sleep, li’l ba-by. 

Go ter sleep on Mammy’s bre’s’. 


[ 134 ] 



Go ter sleep, li 7 baby, 

Go ter sleep, li 7 baby. 

Go ter sleep on Mammy's bre's ’ 


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Mammy’s Luck Charm fer 

de Bride 


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Mammy’s Luck Charm fer 
de Bride 

(Dedicated to a Chicago Bride.) 

H YAR, honey, take dis little gif’ 

An’ place it nigh yo’ heart, 

’Twill keep erway dat littl’ rif’ 
What causes folks ter part. 

Hit’s only des er rabbit-toe. 

But den, de luck it brings 
Is wuf er million dimes an’ mo’ 

’An all de weddin’ rings ! 

Be sho’ you wear it in yo’ bre’s’, 

Pertic’lar on de day 
De preacher come ter pray an’ bless 
An’ jine yo’ ban’s ter stay. 

Des’ keep it, honey, an’ you’ll fine 
Hit hoi’s er magic spell 
Ter make yo’ lover true an’ kine 
An’ han’some, des es well. 

[ 137 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


Er rabbit foot what’s congered right 
Lak dis un is, I know, 

Will make you always glad an’ bright 
An’ good an’ putty, sho'. 


[ 138 ] 



I 


Aig- Braid 



Aig-Braid 

L AWD, yassum, dat’s what Mistis said, 
Dat I could beat ’um all 
At makin’ crus’ an’ biskit braid, 

An’ rolls what wouldn’t fall. 

But le’ me tell you what’s de bes’, 

Fer eve’ybody say 

Dat breakfas’ aig-hraid beat de res’ 

Fer eatin’ any day. 

Why, chile, hit is de “ starfF uv life,” 

Dat what de Good-book tell. 

An’ eve’y cook what’s in de strife 
Will say so, des as well. 

An’ you does s’prise me when you ax 
My bes’ rerceep fer pies! 

Why, honey, hifalutin’ things 
Don’ never take no prize! 

Dem consequencious puffs an’ cakes 
Ain’ fitten fer ter eat. 

An’ dem presumlous tarts I bakes 
Is too pompacious sweet. 

[ 141 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


Don’ ax me nuffin ’bout sich trash, 
Per I’s er higeen cook 
An’ dat assumious puddin’ hash 
Is only fer dey look. 

Now ef you wants de proper dish 
Fer healf an’ tas’e an’ ease, 

You’ll hah de aig-hraid fer yo’ wish. 
An’ hit will sho’ly please. 

You takes er pint uv Injun meal. 

An’ sif’ it in er pan. 

An’ add er pint uv buttermilk. 

An’ fo’ aigs — ef you can. 

Sometimes I uses one or two. 

But fo^ is always bes’. 

An’ den you add er spoon uv lard, 
An’ stir in wid de res’. 

Er cup uv hom’ly what is cole 
Adds might’ly ter de tas’e. 

An’ he’ps de lightness, so I’s tole 
An’ saves er heap uv was’e. 

Er pinch uv soda in er spoon 
You puts in wid de milk, 

[ 142 ] 


AIG-BRAID 


An’ beat it well till ve’y soon 
’Twill seem es smoove es silk. 

You heat yo’ pan twell nice an’ hot, 
An’ smear it well wid grease, 

(Er spoon uv melted lard I mean,) 

Ter brown dat aig-braid feas’. 

Hit only takes er little while 
Ter bake it well an’ done, 

Des twenty minits ter er smile. 

By any clock dat’s run. 

An’ sich er breakfas’ you will hab, 
’Twill fill you wid surprise. 

An’ shame dem gim-crack fancy puffs. 
What’s aimin’ fer de prize. 

Dem sickly, sweet usurpeous pies, 

Dat hashed up “ tuckle ” stew, 

Dem “ angel cakes ” I sho’ despise. 

An’ “ Injun puddin’ ” too. 

Des’ gi’ me aig-braid eve’y time. 

Hit’s hardes’, too, ter make, 

An’ mighty tick’lish, you will fine, 
’Bout sp’ilin’ in de bake. 

[ 143 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


Des’ gi’ me aig-braid eve’y time, 
Des’ aig-braid night an’ day, 
Dat braid usurpeous an’ fine. 
What’s come ter bide an’ stay. 


[ 144 ] 






De Chris’mus Baby 





De Chris^mus Baby 

Dedicated to Little Robert Joyce Newhouse. 

H USHER-BY an’ le’ me sing 

Er ole-time song uv happy joy, 

Fer Santy Claus is done an’ bring 
Er precious li’l baby boy. 

Chorus. 

Halleluyah! Le’ me sing 

My bes’ cosanthum, des’ fer joy, 

An’ let dem Chris’mus chu’ch-bells ring 
Fer Mammy’s li’l baby boy. 

Husher-by, you blessed chile. 

Go right ter sleep, go right ter res’, 

De angels up in Hebben smile 

On dy sweet face on Mammy’s bre’s’. 

Chorus. 

Halleluyah ! Le’ me sing 

My bes’ cosanthum, des’ fer joy. 

An’ let dem Chris’mus chu’ch-bells ring 
Fer Mammy’s li’l baby boy. 


[ 147 ] 



Little Sweet Ladie 












Little Sweet Ladie 

DEDICATED TO 

Little Edith Richmond Baenard. 

S WEET li’l ladie, 

Expected so long, 

Come le’ me ho? you 
An’ sing you er song ; 

All ’bout de birdies 
Way up in dey nes’, 

Sweet li’l ladie, 

Come rock on my bre’s’. 

Sweet li’l ladie 

I’m glad you is here, 

You is so precious. 

So dainty an’ dear, 

Des’ lak de birdies 
Way up in de nes’, 

Sweet li’l ladie. 

Come rock on my bre’s’. 

Sweet li’l ladie 

Wid hebbenly eyes, 

Smiles lak de angels 
Way up in de skies, 

[ 161 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


Come coo lak de birdies 
Way up in dey nes% 
Sweet li’l ladie, 

Come coo on my bre’s’. 


[ 152 ] 


T/W. , ■■ I , . Jg^ 

On My Journey Home 





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On My Journey Home 

M y long white robe come down ter my toes, 
I’m on my journey home. 

My long white robe come down ter my 
toes, 

I’m on my journey home. 

Chorus, 

Hail! Hail! Hail! 

I’m on my journey, journey home. 

Hail! Hail! Hail! 

I’m on my journey home. 

Er hebbenly crown is on my haid, 

I’m on my journey home. 

Er hebbenly crown is on my haid, 

I’m on my journey home. 

Chorus. 

Hail! Hail! Hail! 

I’m on my journey, journey home. 

Hail! Hail! Hail! 

I’m on my journey home. ' 

[ 155 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


Er golden harp is in my han% 

I’m on my journey home. 

Er golden harp is in my han% 

I’m on my journey home. 

Chorus, 

Hail! Hail! Hail! 

I’m on mv iourney, iourney home, 
Hail! HailVnail! 

I’m on my journey home. 

I’ll reach dat blessed res’ at las’, 

I’m on my journey home. 

De Saviour, he will hoi’ me fas’, 

I’m on my journey home. 

Chorus, 

Hail! Hail! Hail! 

I’m on my journey, journey home. 
Hail! Hail! Hail! 

I’m on my journey home. 

Come shout, you Christians, you is free, 

I’m on my journey home. 

Er starry crown fer you an’ me, 

I’m on my journey home. 

[ 166 ] 


ON MY JOURNEY HOME 
Chorus, 


Hail! Hail! Hail! 

I’m on my journey, journey home, 
Hail! Hail! Hail! 

I’m on my journey home. 


[ 157 ] 



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Come Ring dem Charmin’ 

Bells 


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Come Ring dem Charmin’ 
Bells 

I ’M goin’ home ter die no mo’, 

I’m goin’ home ter die no mo’, 

I’m goin’ home ter die no mo’. 

An’ ter ring dem charmin’ bells. 

O! Come, my brothers, 

Ef you wants ter git ter Hebben 
Fer ter ring dem charmin’ bells. 

O ! Come, my fr’en’s, an’ go wid me. 

Come, my fr’en’s, an’ go wid me, 

O! Come, my fr’en’s, an’ go wid me, 

Fer ter ring dem charmin’ bells. 

O! Come, my sisters, 

Ef you wants ter git ter Hebben 
Fer ter ring dem charmin’ bells. 

O ! Won’t you come an’ go wid me. 

Won’t you come an’ go wid me, 

O ! Won’t you come an’ go wid me, 

Fer ter ring dem charmin’ bells. 

[ 161 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 

O ! Come, my chillun, 

Ef you wants ter git ter Hebben 
Fer ter ring dem charmin’ bells. 


[ 162 ] 



wheel in de Middle o* de 

Wheel 


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..I , , ■ ■ 

Wheel in de Middle o’ de 
Wheel 

W E see Zek’l prophetsy, 

Wheel in de middle o’ de wheel. 

We see Zek’l prophetsy, 

Wheel in de middle o’ de wheel. 

Chorus, 

O ! wheel, wheel in de middle o’ de wheel. 

O ! wheel, wheel in de middle o’ de wheel. 

Zek’l ’clar he saw de wheel. 

Wheel in de middle o’ de wheel. 

Gre’t big wheel an’ a little bit o’ wheel. 

Wheel in de middle o’ de wheel. 

Chorus, 

O ! wheel, wheel in de middle o’ de wheel. 

O ! wheel, wheel in de middle o’ de wheel. 

Eve’y spoke wuz human kine. 

Wheel in de middle o’ de wheel. 

Eve’y spoke wuz human kine. 

Wheel in de middle o’ de wheel. 

Chorus, 

O ! wheel, wheel in de middle o’ de wheel. 

O ! wheel, wheel in de middle o’ de wheel. 

[ 165 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


In de valley, ’mongst dem bones, 

Wheel in de middle o’ de wheel. 

In de valley, ’mongst dem bones, 

Wheel in de middle o’ de wheel. 

Chorus, 

O ! wheel, wheel in de middle o’ de wheel. 
O ! wheel, wheel in de middle o’ de wheel. 

Zek’l say will dese bones live? 

Wheel in de middle o’ de wheel. 

Zek’l say will dese bones live? 

Wheel in de middle o’ de wheel. 

Chorus, 

O ! wheel, wheel in de middle o’ de wheel. 
O ! wheel, wheel in de middle o’ de wheel. 

Lawd, my Lawd, yas. You do know. 
Wheel in de middle o’ de wheel, 

Ef dese bones will rise er no. 

Wheel in de middle o’ de wheel. 

Chorus, 

O ! wheel, wheel in de middle o’ de wheel. 
O ! wheel, wheel in de middle o’ de wheel. 


[ 166 ] 


Plantation Funeral 





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Plantation Funeral Song 



Y IPl ba-by is gone, 
Is gone, is gone ! 


My li’l ba-by is gone. 
Let us j’ine de social ban’. 

Go all roun’ an’ j’ine de army. 

Go all roun’ an’ j’ine de army. 
Go all roun’ an’ j’ine de army. 
Let us j’ine de social ban’. 


Chorus, 


My li’l ba-by is gone. 

Is gone, is gone ! 

My li’l ba-by is gone. 

Let us j’ine de social ban’. 

We’ll see ’im ergin on Canaan’s sho’, 
We’ll see ’im ergin on Canaan’s sho’. 
We’ll see ’im ergin on Canaan’s sho’. 
Let us j’ine de social ban’. 

Chorus. 

My li’l ba-by is gone. 

Is gone, is gone ! 

My li’l ba-by is gone. 

Let us j’ine de social ban’. 


[ 169 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


He’ll git ter Hebben an’ tell de news, 
He’ll git ter Hebben an’ tell de news, 
He’ll git ter Hebben an’ tell de news. 
Let us j’ine de social ban’. 

Chorus. 

My li’l ba-by is gone. 

Is gone, is gone! 

My li’l ba-by is gone. 

Let us j’ine de social ban’. 


I ■■■ ^■.^^^—iJgy 

Oh, Lawd, ain’ dem Lobely 





Oh, Lawd, ain’ dem Lobely 

D E king uv de Jews he wuz Phareo, 

See all dem angels robed in white ! 
Moses begged dat de Jews might go, 

See all dem angels robed in white ! 

Chorus. 

Oh, Lawd, ain’ dem lobely, 

Oh, Lawd, ain’ dem lobely, 

Oh, Lawd, ain’ dem lobely. 

See all dem angels robed in white ! 

Phareo would not set dem free. 

See all dem angels robed in white ! 

Followed dem ter dat Red Sea, 

See all dem angels robed in white ! 

Chorus. 

Oh, Lawd, ain’ dem lobely. 

Oh, Lawd, ain’ dem lobely, 

Oh, Lawd, ain’ dem lobely. 

See all dem angels robed in white ! 

De Jews dey went thoo de sea dry shod, 

See all dem angels robed in white ! 

Phareo was drownded by de han’ of God, 

See all dem angels robed in white ! 

[ 173 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 

Chorus, 

Oh, Lawd, ain’ dem lobely, 

Oh, Lawd, ain’ dem lobely, 

Oh, Lawd, ain’ dem lobely. 

See all dem angels robed in white ! 

De Jews dey wuz a stubbin race. 

See all dem angels robed in white ! 

De Lawd f’um dem did hide his face. 
See all dem angels robed in white ! 

Chorus, 

Oh, Lawd, ain’ dem lobely. 

Oh, Lawd, ain’ dem lobely. 

Oh, Lawd, ain’ dem lobely. 

See all dem angels robed in white ! 

Fifty yeahs in de wilderness. 

See all dem angels robed in white ! 

Moses an’ de Jews did res’. 

See all dem angels robed in white ! 

Chorus, 

Oh, Lawd, ain’ dem lobely. 

Oh, Lawd, ain’ dem lobely, 

Oh, Lawd, ain’ dem lobely. 

See all dem angels robed in white ! 

[ 174 ] 


■■ - ja'y 

Oh, Ma’y, don’ you Weep 



Oh, Ma^y, don’ you Weep 

M A’Y wo’ de golden chain, 

Eve’y link wuz Jesus’ name, 

Phareo’s army got drownded. 

An’ Ma’y, don’ you weep. 

Chorus, 

An’ Ma’y, don’ you weep an’ don’ you moan, 

An’ Ma’y, don’ you weep o’er de Lawd, 

Phareo’s army got drownded. 

An’ Ma’y, don’ you weep. 

Jesus rode de horse uv death. 

Eighteen arrows in his bre’s’, 

Phareo’s army got drownded. 

An’ Ma’y, don’ you weep. 

Chorus, 

An’ Ma’y, don’ you weep an’ don’ you moan, 

An’ Ma’y, don’ you weep o’er de Lawd, 
Phareo’s army got drownded. 

An’ Ma’y, don’ you weep. 

Holy Ghos’, Holy Ghos’, talkin’ in de air. 

Holy Ghos’, Holy Ghos’, ter talk it out fair, 
Phareo’s army got drownded. 

An’ Ma’y, don’ you weep. 

[ 177 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 
Chorus, 

An’ Ma’y, don’ you weep an’ don’ you moan, 
An’ Ma’y, don’ you weep o’er de Lawd, 
Phareo’s army got drownded, 

An’ Ma’y, don’ you weep. 

Moses, take yo’ shoes off an’ hide yo’ face, 
De groun’ whar you stan’in’s er holy place, 
Phareo’s army got drownded. 

An’ Ma’y, don’ you weep. 

Chorus, 

An’ Ma’y, don’ you weep an’ don’ you moan. 
An’ Ma’y, don’ you weep o’er de Lawd, 
Phareo’s army got drownded. 

An’ Ma’y, don’ you weep. 


[ 178 ] 


^tW I ^ ■■ ■ ■ I 

Note by the Author 


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Note by the Author 

I N writing the dialect of Old Plantation Days 
I have endeavored to make the spelling as sim- 
ple as possible, so that it may be read more 
easily by those unacquainted with the “ Mammy ” 
tongue. 

While I am aware that the abbreviation of words 
ending in “ d ” is mostly used and is mainly cor- 
rect, it is nevertheless less expressive to those unac- 
quainted with the pronunciation of the dialect than 
the substitution of the letter “ e,” and not so easy 
or helpful to those who are ; nor do the words cut 
off with an apostrophe convey to the mind of the 
reader that soft, indefinable drawl which we are en- 
deavoring to reproduce and which, after all, is the 
chief charm of the dialect, as in the sound of a word 
ended with the “ e.” 

For instance, “ child ” abbreviated “ chiP ” looks 
like « chill; ” and « mind,” « min’,” like « minn; ” 
and “bind,” “bin’,” like “binn;” “blind,” 
“ blin’,” like “ blinn,” “ cold,” “ col’,” like “ coll,” 
etc., etc., and, unless the reader is perfectly famil- 
iar with the dialect, the sweet, tender cadence is 
necessarily lost. 


[ 181 ] 


OLD PLANTATION DAYS 


To me the “ e ” sound is so perceptible in the 
spoken language that I find when writing it that 
my pen glides unconsciously into putting the “ e ” 
in the place of the “d” — that the words should look 
as they sound. Yes, the rhythm of the accent 
seems to speak out to me from the very pages as I 
write, and I seem to hear the lingering softness of 
my Mammy’s voice as distinctly as the memory of 
a note of music held in pressure with the soft 
pedal, “ Gard bless dat chile.” The “ e,” there- 
fore, seems indispensable to me. 

Having studied the language very thoroughly 
both from nature and under the guidance of Mr. 
Henry Gaines Hawn, to whose competent instruc- 
tion I owe my success as an interpreter and reader, 
I feel justified in writing my dialect as simply as I 
have endeavored to speak it from the platform. I 
try never to misspell a word unnecessarily, and 
while I sometimes use ‘‘ des ” and then “ jes ” in the 
same page, and am, therefore, seemingly not always 
uniform in spelling of the same word, I am never- 
theless writing it as I speak it in recitation, true to 
nature, for the negro changes from “ des ” to 
“jes” as often and unconsciously as the euphony 
of the word seems most agreeable to the ear. Plan- 
tation dialect, as heard from the lips of the Mam- 
[ 182 ] 


NOTE BY THE AUTHOR 

my now passing, will soon be a dead language; 
the musical rhythm and tender pathos we shall try 
in vain to reproduce. Hence my desire to put as 
much of the tone into each word of my written in- 
terpretations as can be conveyed by the method of 
simple spelling. Again I would like to explain to 
my readers, that the negro race is the most relig- 
ious of all people, and that their constant use of 
the Lord’s name is neither disrespectful nor irrelig- 
ious — but comes from their daily familiarity of 
appealing to Him as a person ever present to hear 
and see their joys, their woes, and their prayers. 

Martha S. Gielow. 


[ 183 ] 




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